Adoration TF:Prime
by andshecryz
Summary: Soundwave x femme Oc (Pre-war)
1. Upgrades

**Disclaimer: Transformer character names belong to Hasbro Studios, Steven Puri, Mandy Safavi (and so on) unless stated an OC which in case belong to the author, andshecryz. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, andshecryz. Thank you...Please enjoy c:**

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 1 'Upgrades'**

* * *

Before a rebellion had even been mentioned...he adored her.

"Soundwave, have you read this?" He had patted her head, watching from behind his visor as a mere sparkling onlined a datapad and offered it forward for the mech to glance over. Tiny, fragile servos...so dainty and defenseless in her own awkward little world that resided within the safe confines of stories and records. Remarkable tales that altered her reality in the finest of ways, forcing an intelligent form of worldly ignorance upon her. She was a perfect example, he always though, of something untainted by society in its weakest forms...her innocence was thick and unaltered despite the high and corrupted professions of her creators. They had named her 'Prisma' out of sheer ignorance and respect for Primus, constructing her for nothing of importance unlike their other offspring.

He, an already fully matured mech, had first met her in the archives, noticing the youth looking through countless datapads of things beyond her age. He returned the next cycle as required...coincidentally finding her there again, reading aloud in the database halls. His curiosity beckoned him to seek her out the next cycle, and the next, and the next...every visit purely out of discreet interest as well as the fortuitous need for historical information. She had one day approached him, also through curiosity, and after a lengthy introduction he had decided to teach her due to her similar interests; to give some form of meager hope into the lesser generations of these new 'sleeker' yet less articulate and capable models.

She was still young, her armor a dark shade of aqua and her optics a common purple shared among a good amount of femmes. So unused...so pure and untainted by the negligible bots of their city. She thought beyond anyone he knew, and there were cycles where he found it difficult to understand her.

"When I'm older I want to visit Praxus*****...I want to see the Helix Gardens, and I want to find peace." Such unnecessarily bold words for a sparkling, he'd noted at the time...her tone unusually hushed as she smiled and glanced over the edge of the balcony, unintentionally ignoring the studies he was _supposed_ to be teaching her.

Soundwave found that he didn't mind though...that watching her speak and watching her think was much more fascinating than forcing her to learn the things that she probably already knew. A prodigy of some sort...a genius for just a mere sparkling that stood no taller than his shin joints. She knew almost everything he'd first intended on revealing, from programs to spyware to firewalls...it was odd.

"You can come with me, Soundwave!" So pathetically cute; so naive in her hopes even with such vast intelligence. She would go and see Praxus one day, and although it would be peaceful...he was sure that she wouldn't find what she was looking for. He didn't have the spark to tell her that her desires would only lead to disappointment.

* * *

By this time equality had become a demand, and bots had become violent as the revolts were slowly set into play.

"Soundwave, do you think this will progress?" She'd asked so solemnly that he had not answered, and Prisma, who had long become accustomed to his unnecessary silence, hadn't minded in the least despite her curiosity. Her optics glanced back to the city, its countless inhabitants passing through the sky with haste as the sun touched the metal horizon and the end of the solar cycle drew near.

The nightlife slowly advanced with the darkness, the evening seeming even more active than the day. The constant movement and velocity made her lip components quirk upwards in appreciation of the noise; she didn't like the chaos of life, but with the exception of Soudwave...silence made her uneasy. Her random smile caught his attention, and he studied her for the first time in a while, attempting to figure what made her grin so pensively.

She was a little older now, this new frame being her second upgrade and making her stand a little taller than the vorns before. Her plating was the same color, her optics still a sharp purple and her vocal controls were tighter with a still immature tone. She was growing, and he noticed so often that she would add little changes to her programing that most bots wouldn't notice much less think over. She was making improvements upon herself, and he admired that for a femme so young.

Soundwave had also changed in the lengthy amount of time that she'd know him; his actions quicker and stricter...he wasted no energy anymore, and he began withholding all of the political information that he could as if...waiting. He was using up all the space in his CPU, and she noticed even as he built firewalls around all of the important material. His index component would twitch ever so slightly, a sign of too much thought and contemplation that was rare for the mech to visualize.

His visor still covered his face, making her incapable of reading his emotions. Or...or perhaps his visor was his face? Did it really matter? No, because she could have cared less...it was unimportant and incoherent, something that was personal and none of her business. As much as she wanted to know she ignored her uneasy curiosity, instead fiddling with the datapad that'd been held against her chest.

The older shifted and looked up as the sky turned dark, the lights illuminating the rest of their little community with a visually unusual tranquility.

"Are you okay?" The sparkling inquired so faintly, as if unsure of her own question much less his response. She was anxious for no reason; the evidence in each fidget as her finger components curled around the edges of the datapad.

"..." He looked down at the femme before patting her head with a light and reassuring servo, as if dismissing the question entirely. He wouldn't worry her...it was none of her concern.

"Alright." She didn't believe him...the hesitance in her tone made it obvious. But she wouldn't say anything, because he might eventually _figure it out_.

* * *

She attended the academy. Her main studies in science and biological physiology. She accelerated through her courses, always coming near the top of her class, but never quite there. Always the chief, never the commander.

The other youths bullied her, only because she was smarter than the rest of them, and a little more odd. Her lack of proper name also beckoned teasing; most sparklings having been created for a specific function and formally named through it whether they be creations of Vector Sigma or of another Cybertronian. So, as casually assumed, everyone questioned her...they were all convinced that something was wrong because of her knowledge, yet lack of foreboded profession. It was disheartening.

He'd been pulled out of his education early in order to develop his advanced potential for intelligence collection, yet even then he noticed how she'd become wary as a response to the social mistreatment, her internal firewalls, as well as those of insecurity, standing higher than before and her comments of pessimism demoralizing compared to the blissfully giddy femme he'd become familiar with.

He visited her every so often, finding that if he didn't she would no longer seek him out, ask those random questions, and make small conversations that taught him to be more optimistic in his outlooks. She rarely even acknowledged him when he did confront her with a silent form, finding the juvenile to simply keep quite and enjoy some of the company he offered. He no longer taught her...because there was nothing left to teach that didn't involve politics or things that she shouldn't or didn't need to know. Maybe he would later, but as of now Prisma proved herself beyond her time and generation. So in a way he could effortlessly admit...that he did care more for her than he should.

"You don't have to come anymore you know." She murmured it as he stood beside her, the duo tensely silent as she lowered her wings in an unknown emotion; making her appear skeptical. Soundwave looked over, watching her movements as her optics searched for something over the city. She found it even uglier than before...the skyscrapers, the endless traffic, the noise and the bots. A big, messy, conflagration that burned her audio receptors and burdened her processor until it throbbed out of annoyance. Silence was no longer intimidating, it was _welcomed_ now. She didn't like it here...and he noticed.

"..." Soundwave set the usual servo on her helm, watching large optics glance back at him for a brief moment and shutter naturally. She would be fine; he knew it for a fact.

This behavior...it only made him adore her even more.

And her name? Although only the lower class earned their titles...she would eventually attain one.

**_-End of Chapter One_**

* * *

_*****Praxus__ - Praxus was the home city-state of Prowl and Bluestreak. One of its key locations was the Helix Gardens, where crystals were arranged in a beautiful manner to create a place of contemplation. It also hosted The Assembly, a "center of Autobot science, technology, art, philosophy and culture."_

* * *

**I made this for all of you. Many requested a pre-war slash for Soundwave...and here it begins. I had originally planned for this to be maybe three chapters, but it seems that the plot had slowly evolved into something along the lines of seven. Either way I hope you enjoy this. **

**_Please, review! _**


	2. Satellite

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 2 'Satellite'**

* * *

Even as she grew further into society, he still found that he adored her.

She was finally fully developed, the gossip of a revolution floating around her city and the talk of raids and looting scattering across Cybertron like a popular disease. As of now he loyally followed Megatronus, and she stood beside him as their leader's orations inspired the weak and mistreated. The titan had kindly provided her a workplace along side other more intelligent minds, his power now exceeding average as he rose from the Gladiatorial ranks.

For this, Soundwave was thankful. It had made Prisma happy to be included, even if, over time, she had outgrown that phase of depression and instead had become naturally quiet...not as enthused nor immature. She was tall compared to then, her height more than likely at its fullest with her recent upgrade; standing to his chestplate at the most.

"Megatronus-..._Megatron_ does not like me." The younger still hadn't become accustomed to his newer title, looking somewhat downcast as she spoke; an emotion he was not too fond nor experienced of even with her previous displays of the mood. "Although Orion doesn't seemed bothered by my presence."

"..." He simply glanced at her, a servo light on her helm as she managed a smile in his direction; her optics making no contact. The purple had narrowed out by now, having a slim ring of blue. They were attractive on general standards, and Prisma seemed not to care as she enveloped herself securely into her work. The first prototype design was finally coming together; a form of artificial life that required a substitute spark (although this first test lacked _any_ form of spark, and was more of a droid), enabling the bond of programs between it and its carrier.

Fascinating to say the least, and he was mildly impressed with the experimental progression. However, had she allowed him to assist, they would already be capable of multiple tests.

But she was too hard-helmed to accept any form of collaboration unless ordered to.

"I guess you're right. He'll see." Her arms wrapped around his midsection and took him by surprise. A sigh of exhaustion, relief, and comfort exhaled from her air units and against his chassis. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, slightly hesitant in the action alone...and he was admittedly flustered by her swift contact in such a public place. He caught a glimpse of his leader, a smirk smooth over Megatron's brittled lip components as the mech nudged Orion to view the scene. Upon sight the two laughed, and Soundwave keenly ignored it...his focus once more on Prisma and her embrace.

All in just a few simple kliks it was over...and he'd barely become relaxed just before her name was called through the crowd, forcing her to relinquish said hold and turn to look into the slowly dispersing mass of bots. An annoyingly faint tone, one that seemed to bother the older mech more than anything these cycles, requested the femme's presence with haste. The heat from her transistors disappeared as the other mech drew closer, and for a moment Soundwave grew annoyed with the sudden lack of attention.

"Prisma!" This sad excuse of an automobile stepped up and drew her into his navy chassis, holding her defensively close. He was a mech with some odd name that Soundwave hadn't bothered in remembering due to his lesser status and lack of intelligence. Prisma and that pathetic malfunction exchanged little gestures, things of flirtatious implications and excessive actions that the automobile would often force upon her. That nameless half-wit would wrap a servo around her waist, pull her against him as he did now, and make her stay despite her squirming and protests; as if he owned her.

Although in this particular instance she returned his sentiments, Soundwave saw his lack of care often. And in response he could only wonder why she would continue to indulge in a fruitless relationship with such a glitch of a bot rather than maintain an unsociable reputation and focus on her more recent contrivances; furthering the composition and design of her latest project.

"You don't like _Shifter_?" She'd questioned despondently one cycle, and, assuming '_Shifter_' was that mindless brute's title, he quickly pondered over how she'd figured his individual judgement of her 'significant other'. He showed no expression, said nothing, and shared no opinion of that idiot's inept demeanor...yet she was aware of his unshared assessment.

There'd been several other situations that had oddly involved a similar outcome to the current one...where she would act on or say things that she shouldn't have even acknowledged, or that seemed too personal to have been haphazardly uttered due to a lack of some bot's focus. It was suspicious...but he adored her no less. So he didn't question it as often as he should have, her optimistic assertiveness amusing the mech to no end. Prisma, even with her poor decision-making skills, had become a pleasant distraction as of late. Even more so than she had in her younger vorns.

* * *

In time that senselessly infantile relationship with that pathetic hinderance of a mech had ended, much to his _undeclared_ but implicit relief, and he managed to figure out her aberrant ability that she'd kept hidden from him for so long.

"..." He silently implied a question concerning her well-being, his visor reflecting the outside light coming in from the balcony as she stood idle with an unemotional countenance beneath the arch of her home workstation. She was hurt over that poor excuse for a program? That sadly botched together pile of scrap with the CPU of an insecticon? If anything she should have been celebrating her newfound freedom; especially since she'd been the one to wittingly end that less than frugal relationship.

"I'm fine, Shifter had no intentions of bonding anyways." Prisma had murmured it and turned back to her work after sending him a quick glance, her wings low in negative emotions and her finger components twitching against the wires she toyed with. The femme was uneasy, and her work was suffering because of it. Several projects she would usually pay endless attention to were left untouched, their status unknown and progression halted by her emotional setback.

She was upset with _him_ for a particularly good reason...not necessarily angry, no Prisma was rarely angry, but still apprehensive to his recent visits. It was because he'd indiscreetly snooped around her living space, as well as hacked into her memory banks via satellite to obtain the information he desired...information she'd chosen to keep from him and maintain a secret.

"...You did not inform me." He finally spoke rather stoically, and she flinched at the unexpected noise, her spark jumping in her chassis from surprise. Purple optics turned grim, and she strained herself to ignore him while staring intently on the loose components of her more recent project. She couldn't, though. Ignoring Soundwave was like ignoring a pint of energon as you starved and craved for it. Nearly impossible.

"_Perhaps_ I just didn't want you to know."

Her reply was delayed for a brief moment, and he knew she'd taken so long to ponder over answering at all much less a valid excuse. In this particular instance she was ashamed of her unusual function, always seeming reserved whenever he brought it into their recent conversations. She intercepted processor waves, and she knew everyone's thoughts. How funny...how interesting.

It truly explained everything; it explained her vast amount of knowledge, how fast she'd learned over the orns, how she would always be ahead, and how she'd known his personal judgements and opinions. But the question of her abilities to create something so complex, as an add-on to her own CPU much less, still beckoned him to further investigate, making the femme respond disquietingly to his constant observations.

"I've been intercepting processor waves with my own satellite for vorns now, a small modification to improve and copy it for mass-production is nothing serious. I...thought it'd help the cause if any of the rumors of a revolution were true." She shrugged and laughed a bit, that smile he generally enjoyed displaying itself in the most modest and gentle of ways as her wings perked slightly in rare confidence.

She was proud of her work, and her ability despite the current embarrassment. Track racers were often gifted with speed, some cloaking capabilities, others endless ingenious...and her? The ability to intrude upon other's CPU modules and read their constant flow of data without effort. So she'd never been a prodigy as he'd once concluded. Just witty.

Of course she admitted to such, as well as the fact that with each upgrade the gift was faltered, and Prisma was willing to halt all projects in order to restore something so rare.

Foolish, he thought. Yet he only scolded _himself_ for being so careless. She'd been reading his mind and he hadn't even noticed, he never once questioned her innocence, but too often presented her with the benefit of a doubt. Although the experiment itself was highly impressive, her poor choice in test subject was questionable to say the least. Dangerous.

"Experiment is inconstant-"

"-It's _fine_." A glare. He'd never received such a daring and mixed glower of resentment. Yet he continued unfazed, her visualized threats having never been taken seriously despite how irritated she truly was.

"Not-"

"-If I can make something of myself, I can earn a title." The words ran out of her vocalizer, fast yet crisply clear as she turned away to avoid any more of their debate.

Wait. A title? A name. Back to the topic of something she'd constantly worried over throughout the vorns; her lack of a proper name.

'Prisma'. It rolled off the glossa hastily, excruciatingly religious as a female term derived from the name of Primus. She hated it. With every circuit of her inner spark she despised such a _tasteless_, _functionless_, _plain_ title that left her in the lower-class of society despite the status of her creators. It made the femme realize that since her creation she was expected to fail, that she was set up for failure with such a brand and might as well have been nameless.

There was no special capability, province, or utility that she was destined to uphold or earn. She'd been _lucky_ that she was gifted with something she was sure had been an accident...otherwise the seeker would have been left to mine in the lesser regions of Cybertron without chance or recognition. Either that or rust away with the rest of the preachers and religious fraggers that had no emotional desires programmed into their CPUs.

Soundwave acknowledged and studied her reasonings...over exaggerated, yes, but understandable. He understood how discomforting it was to be less than a nobody. She proclaimed endless loyalty to this; to earning a name. She wasn't willing or strong enough to let it go. Especially not when it concerned global equality.

"It'll be fine. You'll see." She smiled reassuringly, calming her irritation. He simply nodded.

**_-End of Chapter Two_**

* * *

**So, I'm sick. Extremely sick. So in turn, I decided to continue this as I lay in bed coughing my lungs up. In all honesty I _should_ be doing homework. Anyway, please tell me what you think! **

**_Please, review! _**


	3. Self-Centered

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - Merry Christmas you guys, and happy New Year! I know I'm a day late as far as the December holiday, but updating was quite the challenge for even today. Either way I hope your holiday (Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, X-mas, whatever) was great! _**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 3 'Self-centered'**

* * *

**_Iacon Hall_**

* * *

"See you next cycle, Orion." Prisma smiled as she turned to the door, Soundwave beside her stiff as usual. The clerk exchanged such an appealing countenance before nodding to the other mech as a quick sign of acknowledgement and departure. They left quietly. In fact their visits were often silent with a few brief comments of mostly intelligence or sharing here and there, in between their readings and studies. They came every rotor cycle* or so, only when they were capable of peeling themselves away from their duties. He recalled Prisma as a mere sparkling in her earlier stages, around the time when he'd only just begun his own profession that'd, thankfully, opened countless doors of opportunity and realization.

Although, it'd been so painfully long ago that he could hardly recall what the two would do during their time spent snooping through the archives. That forced unwanted inquiries. Although the topic was nothing too important, the librarian found himself more curious of their personal issues than normal. The femme seemed quiet still, a bit distant since Shifter. Orion's personal judgements on the relationship meaning literally nothing, although he'd found the other mech's fearless confidence quite audacious at times. Perhaps that is what'd caused Prisma's original attraction to such a..._bold_ personality.

He noticed that it'd begun with something as simplistic as a friendship. A bot who mutually understood, and hung around the archives a little more than he should have. Not for the purpose of reading, no...but for the purpose of _Prisma_. Soundwave had obviously ignored the situation entirely, but...as he'd discussed with Megatron time and time again, the often muted mech was more than likely tight-wired on the inside over such a swiftly escalating relationship. Jealous would be the proper term...but Soundwave...wasn't exactly an emotional wreck.

Either way that hadn't really mattered. Prisma, more so her work, was the most important topic of the many being filtered through his CPU. Yet, her changes in personality beckoned his attention more than her findings currently did. He quickly assumed this would be what Megatron called a 'break'.

Still, it was just useless information that didn't require any attention. Her work, however, impressed him.

It'd been several vorns since she'd graduated from the academy. Orion had seen the accelerated progression as if it'd happened in just a few short-felt cycles. He kept a keen optic in her, looking into her advances every while or so, watching her grow eager when he would visit during her work hours. The femme more than likely expected eventual acknowledgement...it wasn't hard to see that she was intelligent, and the fact that she knew it was even more transparent.

What caught his attention most though, in between social gatherings, peace-based revolts, Megatron's orations, the other scientist's gatherings and his studies, was Soundwave's attentive fascination given solely to that particular seeker. His attention was divided at this point. One logical portion given to the cause and Megatron himself...the other floating around Prisma as she concealed herself within physiology.

There was another thing he seemed to recall as he pondered over this simple and oddly enticing matter. Neither had friends. Neither had much if a social life, granted Prisma had Shifter at one point, who'd obviously been kicked to the curb since...but nothing else in the last vorn. In fact, with the exception of himself, Soundwave, and Megatron, he was nearly positive that the femme secluded herself from anyone who couldn't maintain her frail trust. Just an assumption, though. She'd only been with Shifter for, as a guesstimate, six orbital cycles*. Rumor states that she'd been with him for the sake of being with someone, for the sake of not being entirely secluded on a regular basis. Soundwave had even stated how irritable the entire ordeal was after Megatron, who oddly enough was into such gossip, had questioned it.

So, a sore spark from that incident left her to simply indulged in Soundwave's presence? No, they'd known each other for far too long. Perhaps, in truth, she just couldn't stand being alone? More than a bit selfish, he could say...but the other mech had yet to complain if that were the case.

In fact...he'd never heard Soundwave complain. On the other hand, Orion had never even _heard_ Soundwave speak more than a blunt statement either. Odd. Such a duo was very, peculiarly, odd when comparing one to the other. He turned from his gaze out the main entryway, the darker atmosphere of the room causing his optics to turn focus as the several holographic screens glowed with information.

_Enough_. He scolded himself. It was time to get back to researching.

His servo swiftly glided over the first holograph, the countless symbols of ancient Cybertronian scanning across the page with the movement. Stocks had recently increased, he noticed on an opposing monitor as the numeric codes changed with an update. A bad sign, considering increase of energon worth meant _less_ of the substance. Yet another concern capable of plaguing his processor to the brink of malfunction.

_Less_. It could only cause him more worry.

* * *

It'd been a vorn. Prisma's curiosity had grown, and her intellect had skyrocketed with her experience and ability. She glanced past a mech, one who seemed stiffened and wary of the femme as well as her current company while they made their way into her residence. Soundwave was not unheard of...in fact his silence made them all apprehensive in a paranoid and bored sense that surrounded only rumors.

He had become busy, his loyalty to the revolutionary cause unwavering as he did what was asked of him without question. He no longer had the time to indulge himself by watching her work, or keeping an optic on her perpetual progression as she tirelessly studied and inched her way closer to success. So now, as they shared a brief but casual meeting...they stood in silence, appreciating the others company without a need for action or discussion. Yet she spoke anyway, her own thoughts beckoning the femme to do so without the fear of judgement. He was her closest companion...he would never judge her.

"In our world, there's no opportunity for change or personal growth. Some are born to lead, others are civil servants, and those of the lowest castes, the manual laborers in the underground mines and factories...don't even have names." He turned his helm, a quote from one of Megatron's first orations catching his attention more than another topic would have. That quote meant more than anything to her, though. It gave her some vague sense of purpose.

She was now sitting on the balcony edge, legs crossed, wings strut downwards in content emotion and optics focused on what lay beyond the city's lights off the edge of the horizon. A seeker sped by, the cool wave of air whipping out from their speed, caressing Soundwave's armor while he watched her lean forward into the transparent gust of wind, optics offlining for only a moment to appreciate the chill. The air was clean for once, Iacon's* usual musk seeming nonexistent as it flowed through their air units.

"Megatron and Orion will fix this. And they'll require more help." She murmured, her wings flexing outward in an attempt to stretch out the wire-knots and circuit kinks left behind by a hard cycle's work. These things she did...the little things like mumbling or yawning or stretching her wings...they were endearing; they were oddly graceful. Soundwave found himself paying more attention to her than the conversation.

"..."

"I'm working on something I think they'd find useful. Hopefully artificial life would be capable of partaking in the more dangerous events during the revolution."

"..." He nodded in simple agreement.

"Perhaps then I would be capable of earning myself a real name." She smiled absentmindedly, purple optics narrowing as the calling of recharge began weakening her systems.

Her creators, both once considered to be in the upper-upper class and a threat to the revolution, had been offlined by this point during a Central city bombing. Leaving the personally constructed housing to Prisma, the energon stocks split to her siblings, and excess possessions equally divided amongst them. So this place...it was empty. Quiet. And as she'd confirmed before...silence was more recently welcomed.

Soundwave agreed without a response.

* * *

"Will you have time to meet me in the hall?" The records hall, she meant...where they'd usually spend a larger portion of their free time reading and storing information. She'd asked it smoothly, optics swiveling sweetly as she held a datapad against her chassis.

He shook his head. Of course he wouldn't have time, yet she didn't mind. His help was important to the cause...and at this point Megatron came before anything else. For what reason? She didn't know. Soundwave had always been seclusive, reserved as well as meticulous; which is exactly what made him Soundwave. His sparkling stages were something she knew nothing about, his life before she'd even acquainted herself with the mech was unknown, most of it already deleted or removed from his own memory banks in order to make room for more information. That made him inconspicuous, and it somehow defined him more as a bot than anything.

"It's alright. Megatron needs you, and you've both been moving faster than any of us expected. We should all be proud." She smiled and put down the datapad, setting her elbows on the balcony and stiffening her servos beneath her chin. Her optics scanned the traffic below, the seekers dodging each other to reach their destination with the lower freeway looking crowded.

He nodded, still observing her body language. He caught himself again...focusing on nothing but her.

"Speaking of him, later I'm meeting with Orion again. He knows another scientist...Perceptor I believe, and said there's a chance that I'd be capable of assisting him during the solar joors. I'm not sure, though."

He nodded a third time.

"I have another option. Would you be capable of staying in contact if I moved to Altihex*?"

_Wait_. He hadn't been paying attention...and now she'd asked a question. He innerly stumbled, quickly reviewing the latest stored audio file. Contact? _Move? If?_

"...Altihex?" He finally questioned monotonously, visor reflecting a passing seeker in a swift shine.

Although it bordered their current home...Altihex was _unpleasant_. Bad things happened within the confines of that city due to its vast and various inhabitants. Bordering the Rust Sea as well as Uraya, it was popular for travelers as well as home to millions.

"Yes...unless I'm given the opportunity to work with Preceptor. So many decisions..." She recognized his blunt tone, optics avoiding any form of gaze as he observed her awkward posture with inquisitiveness. Her wings flattened against her back as she remained stiff, the cold rising to their place on the wide-set balcony.

"..."

"If I can-" There was that word again...'_if_'.

"-_Remain in Iacon_." He wouldn't allow her to leave. The thought alone was some ignorant and ludicrous idea based upon her selfishness. Bots were killed in Altihex on a daily basis...and his genius of a companion was considering on living there due to their sciences, perfect. Selfish.

Yes, although Prisma was generally kind, informative, useful and understanding...there were times where she'd freely exposed her selfish attributes. No, she was not visually self-obsessed nor was she verbally conceited, not in any way shape or form, but her lack of seeing beyond her own achievements had proven to be quite..._problematic_.

Her work was a prime example; _nothing_ came before her work. Perhaps refueling, maybe companions such as himself or Orion...but nothing else. Because it was _her_ work, and they were _her_ findings. Not some other insignificant scientist's learnings or discoveries...no they were her personal projects and models that meant more to her than a life might of. It seemed that she was selfish because of her extreme intellect...or, should he say, excessive 'reading' of those with even more distinguished minds. Stuck in thinking that her gift made her just slightly superior...which it did. The simple fact that she'd hidden her ability from him exposed her narrow-minded nature. Thankfully it was something he knew she'd undoubtedly outgrow.

"I'm not a sparkling, you know." _Ohh_ what an understatement. What a thick, heavy, understatement.

"Remain in Iacon." He set the last word before turning to walk further into the room, leaving the balcony in heavy strides with intent of returning to his own home. Soundwave ignored the impatient huff behind him accompanied with the slow squeak of flattening wing panels, it still had yet bother him...because he knew she'd be staying.

Prisma was too self-concerned to even risk losing contact with him much less allow such an opportunity of working with a well-known scientist go to waste. She'd wanted to work with Perceptor, _and_ she'd wanted to visit Praxus, _and_ she'd wanted Megatron's approval, _and_ she'd wanted to earn a title...all of which would become much more difficult in the confines of Altihex. Things she'd probably already realized. As he'd said before; _selfish_. Or...perhaps just self-_centered_? Yes, that seemed more subtle and correct.

Utterly, shallowly, _adorably_...self-_centered_.

**_-End of Chapter Three_**

* * *

_*Rotor cycle - a Cybertronian week; approx. 1 Earth week_

_*Orbital cycle - a Cybertronian month; approx. 1 Earth month_

_*Iacon - Iacon is an Autobot-controlled city-state, located near the north pole of Cybertron. It is also the location of the capital city of the same name._

_*Altihex - Altihex is an orbital torus state that fell to the Decepticon incursion early in the Great War.  
_

* * *

**So yes, Prisma is self-centered. Not entirely selfish...just mostly concerned with what would benefit herself the most. Yes, she cares for others, and yes, she also considers others opinions...she simply prefers to concern herself with the things she finds important. ****As in her work, and her lifestyle...meaning no one else's. This also has to do with her lack of general friends, partners, and the fact that Soundwave is extremely 'to himself'.**

**As an explaination:** One could be self-centered yet not morally bereft of compassion and generosity. Similarly, a self-centered person might want to further his or her objectives, whether or not that meant behaving selfishly in any given situation. a selfish person has a strong bias toward not giving anything; time, money, effort, energy, or other support to anyone other than him or herself**. **

**As a personal view, being self-concerned never makes you a bad person, it just makes you someone who focuses on your own problems and wants more than others. And at this point I feel that Prisma has a right to be self-centered, especially with her work. As I'd earlier clarified, there's a difference between selfish and conceited, or self-absorbed.**

**_Please, review! ^^ _**


	4. If

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - Sorry for such a late update! :c Shame on me, guys. I got distracted with life and all that other bullshit, so in return I made this chapter a little longer than the usual 1,300 words. c; _**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 4 'If'**

* * *

"Perceptor, what's required for the final assessment?" It'd take him a moment, but a conclusion would eventually be made. He wouldn't make it challenging...he never did; adding unnecessary steps took too much time. If anything he wanted to avoid any excess fumbling.

"Remove the device and set its coordinates to a fixed location. It should, upon receiving a radar pulse, transmit a reply pulse that enables the original sender to determine its position relative to the fixed location." He'd usually voice things in a manner that would seem to sound more complex than necessary, and often Prisma found that those were his exact intentions. The seeker could only respond with a vague smile as she tapped her screen with a steady index component, entering a specific set of coordinates on the statistical reference chart. She dragged the information beside a map, the blinking red indicator being spot on as Perceptor fully onlined the device.

"Radar pulse is active, and the emergency beacon appears fully functional." She'd nodded contently, the device in full operation and upon word he shut it down, an obvious expression of relief present on his faceplate. One less project to worry over, and now he could focus on rerouting several energon lines to the labs.

"Good. All in one sitting." He mumbled it crudely, his bitter mood dissipating with their success. He had earlier entered the lab stiff and irritated and quiet...so unlike Preceptor in every possible way. Possibly a lack of recharge, maybe lack of energon, or perhaps just a bad cycle...but whatever had caused it didn't matter, because his wavering spirits were lifted entirely upon the sight of Soundwave.

The femme perked beside her instructor, exchanging a quick glance with the visitor before typing something into the main computer. A pair of sharp, blue optics had yet to leave his frame, and the newly titled Third in Command of Megatron was incapable of figuring the gaze. Was it interest, or indifference? Did it even matter? No, not particularly...but that didn't make it any less awkward in his all but brief visit to check on Prisma's status.

It'd been four full cycles since he'd last seen her, and he'd been recently informed that she assisted in the newest generation of weaponry technology. Something Megatron required as a form of 'defense'. Orion, although hesitant, agreed keenly as though purposely avoiding any unnecessary disputes. He didn't know why. Megatron enjoyed a meager argument every joor or so.

"Perceptor...this is Soundwave." She said his name so sternly, as if to pull the scientist back into reality. His optics narrowed into his constant observations with a form of diversion as he inspected every inch of the other's plating from afar. Not out of sexual engrossing, no, never...Perceptor seemed too professional for such unbecoming things; more out of sheer fascination at such an unusual model of build. In fact it wasn't even a model; his frame was defined beyond belief for the purpose of information storage as well as adaption. He probably had a strong T-cog, capable of withstanding as many upgrades an Elite could afford. An impressive show of ingenuity as far as Vector Sigma goes.

"A pleasure to be properly acquainted with Megatron's advisor." He found it appropriate to nodd stoutly, the thought of physical contact nauseating to the digestive tanks on either end. Both were so 'to themselves'...hardly enduring much socialization unless forced as this current occasion seemed to be.

"Mutual." He stated it so bluntly, returning the nod with his own stiffened form of acknowledgement. The staring seemed to cease, and he couldn't help but find the rumors of said Scientist in being 'a little odd' true.

"Did Megatron find a way around the current weapon laws?" She thankfully interrupted, nearly standing on the tips of her stabilizing servos to interrogate him further; he nodded again.

"Good, then our work wasn't _entirely_ wasted." The older scientist mumbled before turning back to the monitor, the seemingly endless rows of ancient Cybertronian littering the screen as he quickly accessed several reference files.

Soundwave exchanged a glance of perplexity before setting a subtle servo on her helm.

"You should get back..." The suggestion was wisely disappointing, the fair countenance of understanding and adversity crossing her faceplates. Soundwave had come on bad timing, their efforts constant and assuringly unwavering in their constant attempts at scientific success. "I'll try and visit if I can."

_If_ I can. _If_. _Again_.

He found himself dreading the word, mainly due to the seemingly repetitive instance where _'if'_ had no viable nor applicable definition. It was just a word she tended to throw around carelessly, not even ensuring a 'maybe' it either meant yes or, more often than not, no. She wouldn't _try_ to visit (making the term acceptable) whenever the time allowed it...she would either visit...or not. Prisma had never really been indecisive. Even when she'd spoken of Altihex he knew thy the femme had no intentions of leaving whatsoever. She'd made up her mind the joor both options had become available.

But of course he didn't voice such an intolerant opinion or...more accurately...an assumption. He simply nodded his helm as usual, and stood still as the younger embraced him all too keenly. She was warm as always, and she was radiating this optimistic attitude that Prisma lately never seemed to carry out of the lab. He set a servo on her helm again, and within the second he'd become comfortable in the confines of her hold the moment was ruined.

A cough. A rather loud and audacious grumble of the voice chip that had an impatient overtone.

Perceptor held back nothing but his words as this indescribable glower of agitation burned a hole in her wing panels. Prisma stepped away, her grin brief and mildly embarrassed. He turned to leave, their rushed encounter still worth the energon he'd burned to even get there. The doors slid open for his departure as if expectant of the mech to leave.

Next time he would stay longer, if only to spite everyone else within the vicinity.

* * *

It wasn't long before he'd requested her attention, Prisma slightly hesitant in conversation. Perceptor set a curled digit against his chin, optics narrowing in contemplation before finding the correct phrase to voice. For once he found himself incapable of composing a fitted sentence, the observations he'd made almost too sharp within the fresher filters of his processor to bluntly describe. His glossa was tied in the most awkward of ways, and Prisma simply awaited a comment to respond to as she continued to adjust their previous findings.

"Soundwave has a very..._uniquely_ set build." He said it as if analyzing the comment, still unsure of the proper wording within such a contingent expression. It surprised her...considering that Perceptor made an analytical statement that consisted of only one blatant sentence; an uncertain one at that.

"Don't you have a bond mate?" She nearly cracked a full smile, the slim upward curve devious enough to assure that she'd been toying. Although the joke alone seemed to tighten her digestive tanks for some odd and illogical reason. But she'd never been comfortable with jokes regarding Soundwave...so why did she make them?

"...The assumption of sexual interest was _not_ the intention of my observation." She rolled her optics, digits fidgeting with the holo monitor as the two exchanged such an unusual form of dialogue.

"Either way, he does. A six hundred channel data logger, universal control unit, long-distance communications satellite as well as eighty five levels of cache memory. He was constructed for his profession."

"You appear to be more conversant of his assembly than necessary." A smug phrase, one he usually found useful when showing off his intellect. But...he was correct. How many other sentient beings were actually aware of their familiar's internal structure? Very few, she assumed.

"He's my most respected associate." How blatantly passive and falsely apathetic of her. She couldn't help but notice the expression of mocking doubt on his faceplate. Purple optics glanced to the door upon their opening, another colleague walking in while scanning a datapad.

"Ah, perfect timing. Turbine, reconnect the outer stabilizer unit would you?" The smaller mech looked up from his readings, nodding silently at the microscope as the automobile so often did before turning heel and continuing back out the front.

"He's been saving up to go to the relinquishment clinic* and get a full body re-engineering." Prisma muttered it, typing still continuous and without fault as she analyzed the screen. She'd intercepted his thoughts once again and, although the transmission was often fuzzy due to his firewalls, she couldn't help but wonder why he would even consider something so...unnecessary. He didn't need it. He was fine. He looked fine, functioned accordingly, if not above expectations, had a decent alternate mode and seemed content with his speed. What more could he require?

"Turbine is?" Perceptor questioned, feeling odd to be the one with such a blunt inquiry as well as the curious implications; that was usually Prisma.

"No..." She found it irritating that their conversation'd been skewed, the topic quite entertaining when providing impressive details. But now they spoke of change...something happening too often to be appreciated. too quickly, almost. "...Soundwave."

* * *

"What are you doing?" He asked almost meticulously, visor unconsciously heating as she inspected his chassis a little too fondly. A clawed digit traced the inner curve of his plating, complete innocence obvious as this countenance of sheer curiosity crossed her expression. She was oblivious to his discomfort.

"After you left the main lab the other cycle, we discussed your structure." The other cycle? That's right. He recalled his thoughts then too vividly without the usual plus back to remind him. _'If' _had for once been a positive outcome, which was enticingly peculiar considering any other instance in the past. He found himself curious as to what was bothering her, or perhaps she required something? "So I'm just inspecting...and observing."

She smiled a bit, as if teasing. Although it could have just been a delusion due to his unnatural interest caused by something as simple as a brief touch. Or her consistent staring. Or perhaps that inquisitive look on her face as she tilted her helm and smirked in thought. Either or. Everything she did seemed to bother him, or provoke a private inquiry concerning this seemingly fast-formed connection the two had. The connection that caused the inner workings of his circuits to throb when they would make physical contact.

Though he couldn't currently complain...this was the attention he'd oddly found himself craving from solely Prisma, the attention he'd provided her throughout the vorns that was never fully returned. It was always her naive sense of self absorption, he knew...but after all this time...it almost felt irritating to be such an insignificant component of her life.

"..." She stood straight, a huff of air eliciting from her vents in the most drawn out and enervated of ways. Her wing panels strut downwards, warning him of some kind of held-in scolding that she'd been pondering over for the last few rotor cycles*.

"Why do you want a full body re-engineering?" Frag that stupid ability of hers. Of course with how much he'd been deliberating the option she would find out with that fragging power to read his fragging mind.

Still...what was he supposed to say? It's out of style? It's become uncomfortable? It's not sufficient enough? Perhaps the last one...but she wouldn't buy it. Prisma was too smart to not realize when someone was lying, but she was often too socially uneducated to tell when someone was fibbing in order to better her own outcome. So he wouldn't lie. He would just stay quite and wait with hopeful prospects for the topic to blow by as many had in their previous debates.

"..." He just stared, feeling too mentally constipated to even physically move much less evade from the path of his plan. Soundwave could only stiffen and wait it out.

"If you don't want to tell me that's fine." She crossed her arms, wings perking a bit while lip components still curved down in a serious scowl of speculation. "Just pick something worth while."

He still didn't known what she'd meant.

**_ -End Chapter Four_**

* * *

_*Rotor cycle - a Cybertronian week; approx. 1 Earth week_

_*Relinquishment clinic - a clinic specifically made for the re-engineering of one's alternate and robot mode. (Mentioned within the MTMTE comic series) _

* * *

_**I wanted to base Perceptor's character off of his own in the Prime universe, looking to the game **Fall of Cybertron** for help in building him up within the chapter. I didn't do as well as I'd planned, but I avoided making him plain...I think. ^^; **_

**_Anyway, sorry for such a long wait! Hope it was enjoyed. c; Oh! And Fall of Cybertron is an awesome game, really worth while. c:_**

**_I swear this story will eventually have a dramatic escalation. ^^;_**

* * *

**_Please, review?_**


	5. Particularly for Soundwave

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - Another late update. :/ Sorry guys! On rope of it, this features Prisma and her decision as fear as what faction she chooses. (Autobot or Decepticon). It also includes an awesome OC made by StolenWings! Please see the bottom A/N for more info? _**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 5 'Particulary for Soundwave'**

* * *

"Transfer." She greeted the scientist upon entering, welcoming herself into his personal lab and glancing over the mech's shoulder with an expression of plot.

"Prisma." He said it with ignominy, tinkering at his current project all the same. Purple optics scanned the room, the rather dark atmosphere engulfing the walls with the exception of the holographic screen that provided him any substantial light. She often wondered how he could function in such dim ambiance, similar to Soundwave's workplace.

"Is it complete yet?" She inquired haughtily, earning the mech's annoyance a he slapped his utensil against the counter harder than necessary and turned to give her his undivided attention. Spite shown on his faceplate, the scowl nearly creasing the metal of his lip components as he did so. White and purple armor reflected the blue of his monitor, seeming to expand his visual appearance.

"Does it _look_ complete?" His finger components fidgeted, making the femme cross her arms and eye him with an everlasting curiosity; rarely dulled and upon being blunt, sharpening with yet another newfound habit or peculiar action.

"Well that would dep-" She snickered mid-comment, the only true humor she received being provided by spiking the wavering anger of Transfer or partaking in an informal conversation with Perceptor.

"A rhetorical question, _Prisma_." Very dry with his pointed tone.

"I would quicken your pace, the riots are growing without falter and Iacon authorities are no longer requesting new pistols. They're _demanding_ a more visually intimidating type of weapon." She leaned against the counter, servos clasped together at her front and wings tilting back to skin their points against the wall. He shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable with the jet making herself feel welcomed in his lab.

"I _know_." He spat it, thankfully more towards the weapon than her. "They'll just have to wait."

"As a more reassuring form of news; Megatron found our idea a great one. Perceptor was right, a collaboration effort was worth it."

"Yes, but this takes a great deal of concentration and about ninety-two percent of my time...so I'm _kindly_ asking you to leave." He shot her a glare over his shoulder, looking back at his weapon's shell and producing a bitter scrunch of faceplates at the incomplete sight. She ignored the offending remark, moving only to Lebanon her other leg rather than walk out just to please his bad mood.

"You know...your firepower and my lower attachment will do exponentially well. Soundwave suggested making a profit."

Transfer continued to ignore her. The impatience growing into an irritated heat against his transistors seeing as how the jet wouldn't leave. It was often like this...the humiliation he faced at knowing Prisma only visited him to flare up his sensory net and have a good laugh was beyond disquieting. He wondered how Soundwave, the right hand of Megatron himself, had put up with such an impolite, selfish nuisance such as his fellow scientist. He must adore her.

"I wasn't very keen on the idea, but...I'm leaving it up to you."

"_You_ simply mimicked the use of a gladiator's blade." The bitterness finally came through in a random and coarse mumble, Prisma taking an unnecessary amount of credit for his weaponry upgrades glitching him more than he let on.

"Yes, blades that required _manual_ installation. I produced the automatic installments synced to your processor and hooked to the wiring of your gun. You don't give me much credit, do you?"

"How did this even commence?" he asked it with a slight sense of dread, finger components pinching the optic protector beneath his forehelm. A splitting ache of circuits began to throb at the base of his helm, the overuse of his CPU without recharge beckoning some abnormal and highly illogical explosion to set fire to his entire mind.

"What?" Curiosity alone had made her ask, despite the transparent observation that he'd been talking to himself. Despite it he answered.

"A physiological scientist and a master engineer collaborating to make heavy weapons." She smiled almost smugly, finding her title of 'scientist' the closest compliment she'd receive from the mech. Prisma wouldn't answer, seeing no valid response, instead turing on her heel and departing from the room as earlier instructed.

As of now this all depended on him, the original blueprints were the reason for their success.

* * *

"_Orion_ turned his back on the cause!"

"Orion _knows_ what he's doing!"

"He threw Megtron to the scraplets!"

"I _highly_ doubt that!"

Prisma, he found, had become lost in the more recent proclamations of innocence Megatron had vocalized. Although the scientist was successful in proving his point to his other colleagues and assistants, even Transfer, his attempts at changing her mind had been undoubtedly thwarted. She was too hard-helmed to allow herself to be wrong, he presumed. She never really did take her faults gracefully. But this was beyond something as simple as an incorrect wire or a secondary processing circuit...this was a decision with extreme repercussions that he refused to allow her to make. They'd become too close. She, of course, had begun the conversation with a bitter tone, the packing of their belongings seeming much too tense. He could only retort his personal opinion in defense of his beliefs, but she'd never been too keen on another's perspective or interpretation. It was all but natural for the femme to force the conversation into a quickly escalated argument that he'd be willing to throw himself into.

"Perceptor, we followed _Megatronus_ here! We provided _Megatron_ with everything he required for the last seven vorns! It was _Megatron_ who gave us this opportunity...and you're siding with _Orion_?" Although her mentor appeared more concerned for her own well being, the jet couldn't help but feel offended.

Transfer stood quiet, still removing the necessary data consoles and ignoring their constant bickering. Couldn't Perceptor just realize that Prisma was too ignorant to look outside of herself? Of course not, the two had an oddly formed relationship of mentor-student that'd further developed into the femme seeing him as some surrogate-creator. Distracting and unnecessary in his own perspective. Especially now, as the shaking of the building only made him pack up faster and those two tell louder. The others had already departed, most of the interns and his colleagues crushed beneath the slabs of cascading metal that'd been blown down by a rioter's bomb. A sense of irony, seeing as how this particular lab had created the same weapons that'd killed most of its inhabitants.

"I'm choosing the more conservative faction. Orion is dealing with the rising inequalities without the unnecessary violence that's turned this city into a scrapyard." The reason they were downloading anything worth keeping and fleeing to a new location. The city had begun to fall into a wreck of shambles and riots. Soundwave had refused to let her stay, ordering the facility to relocate just a little too late. There were only six of them left in total.

"Orion is a thief." Prisma pointed a stiff digit towards the unstable door, her posture rigid with aggravation and optics narrowed out of disbelief. "These riots have changed everything...they pushed the council to revoke all laws prohibiting the lower class from political contributions, but suddenly they were _too_ hostile? Now that Orion is standing up to par with Megtron everyone's point of view has _changed_? He's a thief out for glory!"

Orion Pax...a mech she'd know since her sparkling days. Friends...but at a distance. He was always kind...he had always been openly pleasant and out of the Pit comes this need for the power that Megatron possessed. She gridded her denta, optics flickering in thought of the librarian she'd found herself already missing. Megatron had her faith.

She wouldn't admit it, but her faith lie more in Soundwave than it did Megatron. Soundwave would never turn his back on the cause over some foolish revolution against, well...the initial revolution. So, in turn, neither would she. How devastated would he be to learn that she'd chosen the opposing faction due to her collegue's rather legitimate advice? Yet...who was Prisma to assume she held so much power in his life?

"The Council _chose_ him!"

"He made Megatron look like scrap!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Prisma! You never do!" In a fit of irritation she threw a malfunctioned datapad in his direction, the scientist ducking by reflex as the monitor sped over his helm and across the room. It slammed into the floor, cracking the holo screen with a dramatic echo of metal on metal and shattering the front. Transfer barely winced at the sound, watching as the oldest growled with a sense of ignominy while optics narrowed with annoyance. Perceptor turned away and waved the jet off with a stiff servo. She didn't understand.

"You'll see. This will bite you in the coolant line!" She cursed under her breath. "You can leave for Altihex without me."

"And what exactly do you plan to do here? Join them?" He said it with such sarcasm, as though doubtful of her threat. Transfer nearly scoffed, quickly turning his back and leaving at the nervous feeling of the shaking ground and abrupt collapse of the stairwell. He wasn't going to die waiting for them.

Prisma collected her own work, bundling the datapads and universal info adapters in her arms. She turned and kicked down the slanted doors, watching them collapse and stepping through. Perceptor felt his spark sink a bit, grabbing his own supplies before following Transfer the opposite way out. He knew she would side with them.

"Perhaps I will."

Particularly for Soundwave.

* * *

"This isn't happening..." Her lip components parted, the ceiling falling in and the ground shaking below her stabilizing servos as she glanced over the balcony in a haunting trance of confusion.

Everything just seemed so wrong in the moment of blind ache.

The air was harsh, filled with acrid smoke from hundreds of burning towers, the skyscrapers collapsing as seekers were shot down, steering straight into the bases of their once elaborate structure. They slanted and fell, level by level, upon burning bodies that thrashed at each other as though senseless droids. There are screams, pleas for help, wails of despair, all shifting together and rising into the sky with the columns of smoke, barely being noticed behind the sounds of collapse and destruction. The citizens within the northern part of Iacon tumbled around, being thrown forward against the pain of their wounds and toppling over into the puddles of used and spilt energon; struggling to rise only to collapse back, choking their last breaths into the dimming ooze of the deceased.

The original militia, once built to protect them, either joined the raids or fell to their protestors as the recently named Decepticon forces mowed them down with newly equipped technology. Weapons SHE had assisted in creating. Weapons that PRISMA had helped to invent and plan. Their fire struck hard, the recoil nearly nothing due to each canon transforming to adapt; becoming yet another extremity rather than something heavy to carry and drag. No less ingenious despite their use, she was still proud at how efficient they were. She held no shame, not even a hint of regret towards her invention...though Primus only knew how Transfer felt.

So now she watched...each life thrown away back into the Allspark as though it were meager; being torn from each chassis by a blast or flung out by an explosion. And...as unsightly and unnatural as it seemed...she still felt nothing along the lines of remorse or sympathy. She only felt uncertainty and a mild fear due to the high possibility that she may never make it out of Iacon in one functional piece.

"Orion...what have you done?" It was the only question she could muster, the only question that formed any logic in her CPU. The title of a Prime was not for a glass-willed, weak and contradicting librarian. Much less in comparison to a strong-willed, determined and intensely driven gladiator who looks only for equality through might and skill. What had the clerk been thinking? What had the council been thinking?!

A crash, and the slick sound of burning metal caught her completely off guard. A jet slammed down into the edge of her balcony...conflagration and the blatant sounds of agony muffling her sensors while Prisma was shot back from the heat. His moans were eerie, and she recognized him as a fellow follower who'd attend most, if not every oration proclaimed and clarified by their leader. He quickly struggled in weakness and ache, servos giving out to his weight as he attempted to transform; he slipped instead, falling to what she assumed was his death from such a high distance to the ground. She wouldn't look down.

"Primus..."

A thrash. Yet another startling sound. She turned, noticing the light of day slowly dissipating behind the clouds of musk and pollution, only rising from the littered bodies and fire. The door swung open and her own arm transformed as if an instinct, although the additional weapon was new.

Soundwave slowed at the sight of a path blaster, a simple prototype she'd tested on herself...a useful one so far. Some over-exaggerated sigh of relief left her intake manifolds, and she quickly put away the gun before hurting either him or herself.

"You scared me." She mumbled a bit, slightly shaky considering the current fall of Iacon. She observed him, his chassis thinner, sleeker and much more agile. He'd gone through with the full-body re-engineering, obviously.

She wasn't sure if she liked it.

"It was unintentional." So blunt, thankfully that hadn't changed.

"This is unfortunate." Such calm words for something so drastic. She acted a though this happened more often than it did. "I assume Megatron ordered what was left of you to take action?"

He nodded.

"The Council's judgement pushed him over the edge...Orion deserves this. He did nothing but ensure Iacon's demise."

She tapped an impatient digit against her hip, but she was right. Orion and his actions had caused this, but neither seemed to mind such destruction. It was almost as if she overlooked it, like it meant absolutely nothing to the jet. And it didn't. Because it didn't interfere with her priorities, if anything it increased her chances of improvement upon resources. That is IF this revolution were to be a success.

"You changed your chassis." She stated it with an undertone of bitterness, her attention wavering from Soundwave to the busted up balcony, watching the fire slowly creep further into her residence. It was as though she'd encouraged a change in subject, as if it embarrassed the femme to be caught not caring of such a violent escalation.

"You noticed." He extended a ready servo, thin and lean and spindly. She guessed she liked it, more or less.

Prisma could only smile.

**_ -End Chapter Five_**

* * *

_* Transfer is the lovable Oc scientist produced by StolenWings (__I do **not** own him)_. She's an amazing artist and has artwork of Transfer (as well as several other Ocs) in her gallery on Deviantart. You can find her at: Stolen-Wings . Deviantart . com_  
_

* * *

**_Hey guys! Thanks to all of you for waiting so long for this chapter. c: _**

**_sorry it didn't feature as much Soundwave as I would have liked...but he's the main focus on the next chapter, swear on it. c; _**

**_So...I have a request! If you're reading or have read my Pitch Black x Oc fanfic __Curiosity__, I ask that you read the latest update and then take the poll on my profile. Please? It will determine the outcome of the story! _**

**_Thanks again all! ~Love Eva_**

* * *

**_Please, review?_**


	6. Creation

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - Okay, there are NO Oc's in this chapter with the exception of Prisma. Everyone else has been included in the G1 continuity...including Deluge!  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 6 'Creation'**

* * *

_**Three Vorns  
**_

* * *

"We have the basics done. Inform Megatron that his request involving the weaponization of Tox-en is near complete. Now that the outer encasement is stable enough to withhold it I'm passing the project on to Deluge*" Although she was in charge, she did not like it. Granted this is what he'd assumed she would have wanted...but she admitted that there were cycles where she would stand alone in the main lab, eying the control panels with wary optics and find nothing physically productive to do. Her _lackeys_, as Starscream had phrased it, were her extra set of servos, doing nothing but taking direct orders to do simple tasks that she would often much like to do herself. But what kind of reputation would that build? For the exact reason of not knowing she simply let it be, listening to her superiors and running her lab as she pleased. But that was where the conflict lie...she was not pleased. Not at all.

The femme was currently unneeded, within the overtaken Stanix*, anyway. It had been two vorns since the first act of retaliation and revolt, their achievements beyond believable as they stood one step ahead of _'the great Optimus Prime'_ and his countless followers. The betrayal of a lifetime. Yet no one saw beyond that, apparently.

"That egotistically depraved glitch should be capable of turning it into a doomsday device." Soundwave would have chuckled had it been in his nature.

It all seemed so simple. She provided them with some blunt operation and it was done, but she found herself appreciative of the days where they function _improperly_ and she could attend to the matter herself. To do things productive and accomplish physical work rather than sitting back and altering and adding minor adjustments to her numerous data files.

"That's all I currently have to report."

Prisma could never once find herself comfortable in such a position, a position in which Megatron had placed her. In which Soundwave had made for her. The jet would shift in her seat too often, fidget with useless things and sometimes mentally slump at the weight of the pressure. She physically did nothing...yet everything concerning the lab and her subordinates interrupted any substantial efforts for her own experimentations. And running a successful, organized lab was not easy without piercing fear into your workers. She was visually incapable of doing so…being so small and feminine and…_unfrightening_.

-You will be dispatched to Kalis*.- A very desultory comment, but a valid one none the less.

"...Under _Shockwave's_ command?" She raised the slim mental of her brow, her confused expression just as powerful on screen as it was in front. Yet the slightest quirk in her lip components did not go unnoticed. Soundwave saw it, analyzed it, considered it...and then, as most mechs did, ignored it. Femmes were mentally different, their reactions usually being something one was nearly incapable of comprehending without the tedious installation of their uniquely built thought processors.

He could clearly see the strain on her face through the monitor. The build up of anxiety wrought upon her due to so much yet so little. He watched her often, the security cameras providing him intriguing actions and often boring situations that he cared more about than anything across their galaxy. Because it was Prisma...and Prisma was safe. He didn't care if she felt pressured or dissatisfied...the more she spoke of it the happier he was. It had nothing to do with her displeasure…simply the sound of her vocalizer was enough to assist in maintaining his composure.

-I will be departing for Kaon*.-

But now, as the news of her transfer and his embark reached their knowledge, there was a minor feeling of relief in both of them. No, not both, a vast feeling of relief that perked her wing struts and quickened her step, and a vague one that stilled him entirely. He stood idle, the countless situations of how wrong it was filtering through his CPU at an insanely swift speed.

"I'll visit your end before we go, then." Her vents exhaled as she set a fisted servo against the cheek of her faceplate, leaning onto the computer board, one leg crossed over the other as she stared at several of her assistants.

Although this news was generally commendable it did have a negative side. There would be very little tangible communication…perhaps a video comm but nothing material. That is…if Shockwave allowed such conduct.

_Shockwave_, a most diligent officer with a more satanic outlook on anything with a pulse. She'd heard rumors...most of which were true, but she had no logical reason to assume anything concerning his actions. Upon she and the other scientist's first _proper_ introduction Soundwave warned her with an energyfield lacking expression and servos curled tightly into stiff fists of needles. At the time he'd already known of Megatron's plan to scatter into different states, and he'd already known she'd be put under Shockwave's command. At his words of warning she'd simply laughed faintly, setting a light servo against his chestplate while commenting that 'no other mech could lower her firewalls'. He found it a compliment...one he enjoyed too fondly to not call their relationship _'more than friends'_. Yet, that's all she saw them as. It was _irritating_.

"I'll begin downloading any transferable content." It all seemed routine by now, the bitter feel of stale air, polluted due to the massacre of the town upon Megatron's raid to overtake it. There was always a feeling of _dread_…something biting at their plates no matter where they'd go. The dead, perhaps.

Prisma felt slightly consoled in knowing her stay was shortened exorbitantly.

And he was so emotionally constipated that he didn't know _what_ to feel. Seeing her every day, listening to how content she visually seemed, yet knowing how shifty she felt inside...it made him rather relaxed with such a pleasurable environment that was in his favor. He adored her, and therefor he wanted to keep an optic on her no matter how anxiety-wrought she became. This idea Starscream had suggested...'uniting all loyalist within the scientific ranges of profession to expand'. It was recklessly idiotic. _As was Starscream. _

Or maybe it was actually smart...and he was just bitter about the situation?

She looked away from the screen, her assistant entering and placing an energon-coated processor component onto the secondary examination table with a heavy servo.

"Is that subject thirteen's?"

"Yea…offlined a klik ago; the exact time was charted and reactions were properly recorded."

"Start another installation on fourteen. Make sure it's a full download, then transfer everything onto a mobile port for an upcoming transport." He nodded, snatching a datapad from the tabletop before turning back out the door. She returned her optics to his own, glancing at the monitor and tapping the system as the holographic backing flickered a bit.

-Explanation?- An inquiry the CO often made. Soundwave was _nosy_, and she liked that.

"Do you remember when I informed you about the duplication of my processor's circuitry?" A project lost after the crumbling of northern Iacon, their base of operations having fallen to a raid.

He nodded.

"With whatever free time I find my assistants with, I assign them the task of downloading certain data collection recorded from my own CPU. We make a mock-motherboard and install it before testing." She smiled. Primus, did he enjoy that smile. Purple optics rotated, watching his visor and awaiting some kind of response. "I hypothesize that-"

Something beeped…and for a moment she turned away. Purple optics scanned over a datapad before sighing, tapping an impatient digit against the keyboard.

"I have to go. I promise I'll visit you if I get the chance." Prisma smiled again, cutting off their feed before leaving him with a blank screen and the rather mundane sound of a disconnected comm.

_'If'._ Even after several vorns…he still despised the word..._'if'_.

* * *

**_Four Orns_**

* * *

Prisma watched, idle and in the doorway, as he interacted. Rumble was there...as was Frenzy, the minicon siblings added to the ranks in the more recent recruitment. They were smiling, their visors flickering in some indiscernible emotion that the femme was sure lacked the base's usual pessimism. Soundwave leaned in a bit, listening keenly as far as she could observe. The two smaller laughed, exchanging trivial conversation before grinning and beginning to turn heel. That's when he said something. She didn't hear it, but by the time she'd managed to intercept his processor waves the initial thought was gone. He watched them leave, and she quickly approached.

"Sound..." He turned at her voice, the taps of her pedes having already caught his attention just as she exited the main communications room. She quickened her pace, aqua armor reflecting the overhead lights in a most meticulous way as she strolled up beside him. So now she visited…the definition of 'if' having been_ 'the orn I leave'_. It was almost farcical, how little they actually spoke when living beneath the same roof yet working on opposing ends. Almost something comical.

"..." A stiff silence filled with her prurient expression and his unresponsive frame. She crossed her arm panels, looking towards the direction of the departed company before glancing back at his immobile countenance.

"The minicons like you." He followed her optics, obviously aware that she'd avoided the topic of her dispatch to Kalis.

"It appears that way."

"And you like them?" A sly hint of unnecessary implications behind her tone made him shift in his stance.

"..."

"Are you mad at me?" He looked at her, almost startled at such an unpremeditated inquiry, large optics shuttering with an unintentional sweetness that he so often observed. Even if he were...he wouldn't be physically capable of saying 'yes, completely, frag off'. For a moment he wondered if anyone could.

"No."

"Good." Right answer. It earned him another grin of acceptance. "Then meet me in my personal lab in a joor."

Of course she left the second they were finally capable of making physical contact…and of course there were strings attached. Positive, or negative…it was the one time he'd managed to obliterate any common sense, lacking the usual process of analyzing the situation and establishing several hundred theories. It was Prisma, after all. At best it was the physical relief of a withheld confession and sexual responses, and at worst it was another lecture concerning his constitution. He highly doubted either, though.

* * *

"Come here." She demanded his presence, her actions hasty and impatient as she wrapped a thin servo around his wing panel, pulling the mech forward out of the doorway by the arm. Was he in some sort of trouble? No, she didn't appear discontent...she appeared almost giddy. She wore no grin on her mouthplates, but her optics appeared to dazzle with that excitement he hadn't seen in vorns.

"..." He remained silent even as she led him further into the lab, somewhat lost in his vivid observations.

"I've been thinking..." Oh no. "This will be the first time that we're separated without choice." Her lip components quirked oddly.

"Megatron will undoubtedly choose you to as a head officer, and I'll remain in the outskirts of Tarn under Shockwave's command during your mission." Her tone wavered, vocalizer obviously unsteady with either anxiety or worry. "Which means individual missions assigned to each commanding officer that could leave you stationed independently for cycles."

"..." For once he didn't understand her point or reasoning. Yes, this was obvious in such tasks. He already understood his duties, but a synopsis of his job description wasn't why she'd dragged him across the rebel labs..._was it?_ Finally they stopped, her grip releasing its hold from his extremity...and for a moment he missed the feeling.

She quickly made her way to an examination table, laser scalpel and welder set to the side. He continuously watched the femme from the door, visor reflecting every fluorescent light in the room. She fiddled with something small, movements swift as Prisma hurried to finish the remaining touches on her most recent project. It was brilliant. It was beautiful, it was _perfect_.

"You'll be alone for a while, so I made you somethi-...someone." She barely smiled, her digits nimble against each finishing wire as she connected the remaining circuit to the CPU as if planned as a presentation. It came online, fluttering and shaking against her grasp and pulling away as it curved around and focused on Soundwave. A small notification came onto the inner visual of his visor, a life sign and status bar showing in red at the far corner.

"I haven't named him yet. I don't know if I will. He's yours...so it's up to you." It glided around a bit before using its bottom flaps to land on his arm plates, shifting to secure itself on its perch. It beeped, and Prisma grinned at her success.

"Do you like him?"

He took a moment to observe the device before he nodded as it fidgeted and swooped off of his arm panel, setting itself in her awaiting servos as she beckoned it closer.

"I had one of my spark's center spheres removed as a transplant, to make sure he functioned properly. Added a couple actuators, a photogrammetric scanner, a single board sensory component, interface adapter and power control, seventy-two channel data logger, a few command modules matching your processor waves...and I easily made him a part of you." She gazed at her creation with a soft display of pride and adoration, his own spark tightening at her visual presentation of affection. This was her sparkling...and as it was a part of Prisma...it was a part of him. _Literally._

Her countenance grew serious for a moment, hand resting in the center of its wing panels as if gently rendering the creature still. Soundwave nodded, understanding to the full extent. It wasn't just a creation...it was a _sentient being_. It had a spark provided by_ Vector Sigma_...granted a small fraction of one, intended for another purpose, but still. This was dangerous...she was 'playing Primus'. This was illegal.

"I also enabled him to transform, adapt, and latch onto your chassis if necessary. He's alive...he thinks, feels and has every necessary component to function like we do, alright?" She gave him that genuine smile, his still and lifeless reaction a good sign. If he hadn't been impressed, he would have turned and left. "He won't be a hindrance, and...I guess it's someone to talk to." She smiled as the creature set itself on the table and offlined at his personal command. It was a work of art. As well as a work of sheer consideration on her part.

"Impressive."

"Thank you, since your creation day was nearing...I figured him as an early gift. He's compatible with your latest upgrade so, I couldn't wait." She grinned into her mild embarrassment, optics narrowing with her upturned lip components as she stroked a careful servo over its wing panel again. Soundwave nodded, approval vaguely expressed in his movements as he examined the creature further. Welding points precise, inner wiring and cables pulled, tightened and strung perfectly. It onlined without a sound again. This wasn't some simple module or excess component, though. This was...more than just an artificial life-form; this was something that broke any (if not all) laws set before the rebellion, granted those were no longer in affect. But apparently she didn't care. This was a gift capable of hiding in plain sight against his chassis, something irreplaceable, _someone_.

"I have to add a control unit, long-distance communications scanner as well as a backup sequencer and ordinal counter. Other than that...he's nearly complete." Her smile broadened again, the small clips on her backplates perking with her wings as she examined its front laser. "Your finish is the most difficult to match, by the way."

_A joke_. He ignored it, unsure of how to respond.

"Useful." She chuckled casually at his blunt response. In her mind it was a complement. She quickly and timidly intercepted his processor waves, finding the expressed appreciation genuine. It settled her concerns.

"Of course...you wouldn't like him if he weren't."

And she was correct in that assumption.

* * *

**_ -End Chapter Six  
_**

* * *

_* Deluge is a canon character from the G1 universe. He's a liable scientific consultant, but prefers to shun the mundane workaday world and spend his time plotting and designing doomsday weapons._

_*Stanix is a region in the south-west side of Cybertron; one of the first areas to be conquered by the Decepticons._

* * *

**I'm hoping that I completely blew your mind with the basic idea that Prisma created Laserbeak. No?...Oh...I completely understand. This entire fic was actually based on the thought of 'what are Laserbeak's origins...and why did Soundwave stick with the bird rather than any of the minicons?' Don't get me wrong, I love Laserbeak...I just adore Rumble and wish he'd been included in the Prime cartoon. Which is odd considering he was shown in Fall of Cybertron, and that supposedly takes place in the Prime universe. Hmm...weird.  
**

**Anyway, all we know for sure as far as history and origin, based on the G1 continuity, is that Laserbeak was the first of the cassettes. Nothing else other than the mention of his chassis being less of an avian shape on Cybertron. So I figured I'd give him a story. ^^ Well, hope you guys enjoy! Chapter six is already written out, and I'll post it eventually.**

* * *

**_Constructive reviews? c:  
_**


	7. Beac

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - _**_PLEASE READ THE END AUTHOR'S NOTE BELOW!_**_  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 7 'Beac'**

* * *

_**Six Vorns  
**_

* * *

She'd been stationed rather far from his current base of operations. Him being undoubtedly beside Megatron, and she being ranked as a skilled scientist. Therefore being was placed where she belonged; under the stiff command of Shockwave beneath the immobile iron of his servo that crushed everything and anything partaking in freedom and fun. _Marvelous_.

"Megatron wants us to invade Tarn?" She'd asked skeptically, although it hadn't mattered. Shockwave had the resources...and if done correctly (which it would be) overtaking Tarn would be nothing but an eventfully cycle. An expected success no matter what plan now that they were well equipped with a decent militia. And Shockwave would undoubtedly dictate such a city without question, without any vocalized concerns. She found it odd...how _willingly_ they'd all obey.

"Affirmative." Soundwave nodded, their video comm focusing on business rather than the usually brief yet comforting checkup. He had called the main lab upon orders, and she'd coincidentally been the only one residing within the room. How odd, how often mere coincidences forced social interaction between them. It was almost unavoidable, and she often wondered if he called at specific times for a more personal reason. _Hoped_, rather than _wondered_.

"I'll alert Shockwave. He'll act immediately." She nearly groaned. "Tell Megatron to not worry. Tarn will undoubtedly fall under Decpticon control."

She offlined the communicator, fairly guilty that she was incapable of speaking more, of conversing with the only intelligent being _willing_ to. Soundwave had no time, though. And after this neither will she.

* * *

"Have to find Shockwave..." She began walking, pace quick as she entered the main lab in search of her current commander, his communicator being shut down as it often was. The mech was more than likely submerged in his work, or perhaps rewiring a subject chassis. He was rather predictable, as surprising as it sounded. He had a set schedule, although most of the usual activities varied with each separate experiment. Still uncannily easy to find.

So it was less than shocking to hear listless cries of anguish and pain echo from one corridor to the next. Begging, pleading and the familiar sound of fear filtering through her audio receptors; the background nothing more than clanking and shifting and fighting. Her CPU focused on such things too often to be safe, the discomfort they caused should never be revealed _because that is weakness and he will tolerate no such thing._ This entire 'Decepticon' wage...the morbid ambiance and the ruthless absurdities that they, as voiceless scraplets, keenly accepted as their style of life out of spite and withheld rage. Now everything was sultry and everyone was a violent sociopath looking to spill energon only because _they_ _can_. Due to the realistic mindset that freedom and stature is earned with might and power. And what were the Autobots? Mindless pacifists who saw freedom as something you were born with, nothing worth fighting or laboring for...you were just handed such opportunities on a silver platter. _Fascinating_.

They were no longer justified rebels, they were _Decepticons_, and she wondered just how many planets trusted them and accepted their faction with such a name. Deception.._ha_! She laughed at that.

Still it remained a mess, every oration and every revolt coiled into something much more dangerous than the last act of violence or the last act of valor. The little riots she'd complained about developing further into a thick poison of death and burnt sparks, as dense as the decaying energon split in little puddles across countless city-states. She'd walked outside once...off a drop ship in order to retrieve supplies from the wreckage of a fallen city-state. What a solemn mistake.

Another plea of agony wailed through the glass halls.

Prisma tuned out the violence of the lab, never oppressed or intimidated by it but never too accepting of such interfering sounds either. Her steps often distracted her, the taps of her pedes synchronized as she made her way towards the main lab. Vortex passed, wing struts shifting into something sly as his visor followed the femme's movements. He was the most...peculiar...of the Combaticons; a team she'd prefer away from her base of operations if she had any considered opinion whatsoever.

All they were was trouble. She found it ironic. All _she_ was was trouble. Shockwave always made that apparent. She'd love to say their relationship of Chief and assistant was stellar...but that would be some awful lie conjured from the Pit*. Actually...in technical terms and comparison to the poor treatment of everyone else...it was a decent consociation. He rarely caused her inner conflict and almost never experimented on her chassis. The minor examinations of her satellite were understandable and overlooked, but he'd never wasted his time in removing necessary organs. She knew Soundwave would have a fit.

Upon entering she met the all too familiar appearance of his back, the small mechanical parts moving in synch with his stiff movements, datapad looking like a portable communication dock within the massive grasp that was his servo. His gun shifted, making her glance from the back of his helm and back.

"What is it you want?" Despite the polite wording he asked it blatantly...and for a moment she wondered just how his last assistant was _'accidentally obliterated'._

* * *

**Two Deca-Cycles***

* * *

Although the device had been with him for more than three vorns, it still had no name. Yes, he was the second opinion in any of Megatron's decisions, and yes, he was one of the best communication officers this side of the galaxy (so good communication wasn't even necessary)...but creativity was not his strong suite. Naming sparklings or creations was not on his priority list; although this was much more useful than a mere sparkling. Still he did not speak to it...and even then the silent creation made better company than anyone else would. It was simple, it was quiet...it was an advantage.

It lay against his chest now, transformed against him and currently unmoving. It was warm, a steady heat radiating from its little spark that was but a small fragment of Prisma's own pulsing life force. She'd had a center sphere removed from the middle? Such a dangerous procedure to be done...all in the name of science. All especially for _him_.

_Prisma._ He missed her, truthfully. He did not mind her absence, it didn't bother him...mainly because she would comm or video message him on her latest discoveries every rotor cycle or so. She had worked her way up the food chain...or as she'd put it _'survived as best as she could'_ while under the strict ranks of _Shockwave_. That purple monstrosity who's only ambition was to worship science in its deadliest, purest, and cruelest forms. The one who'd recently been commanded to overtake the city of Tarn. Soundwave had no judgment.

The doors slid open behind his place at the computer as he casually continued working to hack into Autobot systems. They'd found coordinates to a far planet, one rich with energy that was capable of sustaining their race further than their own home was.

Footsteps. The click of heels. He knew who it was.

"Ahh,_ Soundwave_." Starscream brittled out his words as he gestured to the other with a fluid servo, finger components curling as he set the opposing extremity at the arch of his back. The voice grated on the Intelligence Officer's audio receptors, high-pitched and moody. It was little wonder how Starscream received his name, optics red with this list for power and stance flamboyant with pride. His wings perked, and his voice drew out as he attempted to gain the the other's attention. "A scientist sent a request to meet with you personally. She said there were several..._pressing_ matters that she would like to introduce."

"..." He did not reply. He knew it was Prisma, he only awaited the bothering inquiries that the seeker in front of him was preparing to spew.

"Apparently she found it disrespectful to bother Megatron's _second_ _in command_ with such _meager occurrences,_ and instead wanted the Communications officer to look further into that unit's recent discovery." A smile slickly spread itself over his lip components, ego growing with each sputtered word. Starscream puffed his chest out a bit, optics gleaming with self-glorification.

He nodded as his only response, slightly irked at the thought of Starscream picking and prodding around his personal station. He leaves the main controls for a joor, and suddenly the Second in Command, who had no business even near that particular post, was answering video comms and undoubtedly listening to _private_ audio logs. Soundwave remained unfazed, and the seeker chuckled before striding away ostentatiously.

Flattering Starscream into carelessness? A very intelligent move on Prisma's part. Very intelligent indeed.

* * *

Megatron had allowed his leave without hesitation. Surly if he were needed Soundwave could easily be back within the joor. Shockwave was alerted of his upcoming 'inspection'; although it was more of a visit than anything. He transformed as soon as he entered the landing bay, several nameless drones scuffing by as actual troops kept their distance. He navigated himself throughout the base effortlessly, the main lab within view of the dimly lit corridor. Even Megatron's base of operations was illuminated with a livelier atmosphere. Everybot here...seemed afraid.

The doors slid open with a hiss as if to greet him. Her appearance reminded him that they'd been physically separated for some time, his own making her grin with bottled excitement and that upturn of lips he caused made his spark ache significantly. The sight of her creation latched onto his chest relieved her fear of his eventual disapproval. It had been several long and drawn out vorns since their last meeting, and both observed the other as  
though focusing on any obvious abnormalities.

"It's good to see you." Her smile was still flawlessly shimmering. She appeared healthy. Plating was waxed, cables strung nicely and any blemishes or dents had been fixed or removed. She looked new, as if provided with another upgrade specifically for repairs. Shockwave didn't neglect her...that was all he would consider.

He nodded as a brief reply, expressing her sentiments of relief in the other's wellbeing as a single gesture.

"I assume that you received my message?"

"..." He nodded again.

"Good. I could have sworn that _you_ were the Communications Officer, not our beloved Starscream. I see what happens the klik you leave your station." She turned and moved towards the examination berth, wings strut outwards in thought as the sarcasm bled from her vocalizer. She'd made her opinion of the other seeker obvious in the past.

"..."

"I called you here for a reason, obviously."

Yes, the assumed good news and bad news. Although the bad news was nothing short of unimportant, she still felt obliged to share it. She'd recently discovered that the duplication of her processor's satellite was impossible. Well, the installation was just too complex to integrate much less perform as a surgical transplant. A tragic loss that'd wasted her time and effort, but without the practice her progression wouldn't have skyrocketed like it did. Yet another optimistic view of failure she'd freely shared during one of their previous video comms. Soundwave didn't understand; he would have been more than frustrated to find a dead end.

"I'm incapable of mimicking my own satellite programming. There were too many components involving the personal structure of my spark to replicate anything that could read transmissions below the frequency of a radio or communication wave. I found it disappointingly ironic at the time, but...it made _obvious_ room for improvement." She muttered the last part, a sigh tugging at her words as she set her servo over her optics for a moment of quick relief. He nodded in response to the sideways glance she gave him, her wings twitching as she studied his reaction. Disapproval was not something she often looked for, but the current fear of it made Prisma observe her companion too keenly. He stood thinner with that last physical upgrade, tall, quiet, and of course eerie in that familiar way that time had made unnoticed. She smiled, recalling the day his visor had nearly shattered upon impact with her datapad. A simple 'accident'...so she proclaimed, anyway.

"Fortunately that's not all that I wanted to show you. Starscream wouldn't bother with our work, he's too wary of Shockwave...which is exactly why I flattered him into asking you to come down." She smiled a bit, the expression of her faceplate assuring the mech that she was recalling past experiences and memories shared.

"I've finally found a way around the sub-creation of artificial sparks. With the correct equations, tools and composition any engineer could easily mimic what we've accomplished." Her hand outstretched to the chassis on the table, its finger components fidgeting every few moments. Soundwave inspected the figure briefly, its vital stats appearing on the inner screen of his visor.

"I call it a Vehicon, although Shockwave enjoys the term Eradicon. Built with a functional processor, sequencer, execution unit, transistors and FPU. But their logical optimization is limited, leaving them incapable of making their own decisions; also courtesy of Shockwave. It's impossible for a change of mind, or side, without direct command or rewiring. He's in the process of stabilizing it."

"Impressive." And indeed it was. Just as her first creation had been, and just as her private operations concerning database interference had also.

"Directing an energon fuel line to a pressure chamber will activate the proper functions needed in order to mimic the vitals of a spark. It will maintain proper composure unless removed from the chamber, and they _will_ work accordingly." She traced each inner wire with a careful finger, optics dodging his visor as if attempting to avoid any contact or criticism.

He had none.

"With his expertise in both nero-networking along with his recent invention of the cortical psychic patch, Shockwave handled the processor and CPU manipulation, and I ensured the life force and designed the outer and inner structure." He nodded again, stiff as usual and observing her every added detail. Megatron would use this opportunity without any form of hesitation. Prisma had been right to request him; Starscream wouldn't have shuttered an optic.

"I had two of our three subjects partake in target practice. Unfortunately, they're equipped with poor marksmanship. Aim is average at best...and there's only so much we can do as far as functions. They learn, so instillation isn't worth the effort unless we're constructing a literal soldier or assassin. They're an army...and that's what Megatron had want-."

"-Fodder." A voice interrupted, one that Soundwave had been familiar of despite his placement in the war. The heavy footsteps made Prisma cringe warily, form stiffening with an air of conscientiousness at that naturally threatening tone. It was deep, muddled by how crass and deadly it sounded as it echoed against the metal of the room. Soundwave turned his helm in the mech's direction, already aware of Shockwave's presence as he slowly staggered into the lab. _His_ lab.

"_Fodder_?" She asked with a faint hint of attitude creasing her tone. She wouldn't dare sharpen it though.

"Yes, they are fodder." He mellowed out a bit, the single optic narrowing towards the femme as if speaking to a sparkling who'd discussed a topic that they hadn't experienced. She huffed a quiet breath, defensive pride overwhelming her transistors in heat while her wings swiftly pulled against her back in negative emotions. A scowl etched itself onto her faceplate, and Soundwave set spindly fingers against her shoulder blade as if to calm her overheating circuits. The feel was foreign and rekindling. He usually did not touch, and hadn't in some time since their last meeting. Within the base of Kaon...he preferred to be left without much physical contact.

"These are _our_ creations. Shouldn't we treat them with a little more respect?"

"Beacon..." Beacon? Who was Beacon? "...I advise that you refrain from speaking so freely. These are simple experiments...test subjects. Too meager to be considered a creation of any sort. Although your inept concept of these scrap piles having any sort of meaning to you is vaguely farcical...it is no less pathetic."

She was mad, her cooling units struggling to maintain a steady temperature in her frame as the younger's servos fisted and wings stiffened through rage. He was an unemotional aft, yes, but regrettably common logic had forced Prisma to realize that...in some shifty and inflated sense the mech was right. Shockwave was one of Cybertron's best known scientists aside from Perceptor, his CPU was a work of sheer brilliance in the field of methodical or biological studies and for countless vorns he used it accordingly. An exceptionally distinguished and illustrious work of ingenuity. She was mildly jealous, yet his pompous attitude and cruel outlook on sentient beings stifled her envy into nearly nothing. And although Perceptor was misled completely into the Autobot's side...her respect was still strictly in his favor.

"Aside from your fruitless bickering, I came to inform you that Subject 0154 has offlined permanently due to your negligence." Of course it was her fault. The femme's lip components pursed for a moment, concern evident in her countenance as she gridded her dentals.

"0154, subject had been undergoing several tests concerning his abnormal circulation fluid and transistors. Vitals were always unstable due to constant experiments." She turned to a monitor, looking up the current vital stats and uploading the last subject examination upon death. "Self-inflicted puncture to the initial cortex energon line…"

Located within the main extremities, Soundwave noted..._hinting_ at suicide. Of course torture would ensure a self-wrought demise. He would never question that, yet Prisma still seemed unsure; still stale in the optics as she stared at the floor panels with a curled index component against her chin.

Shockwave focused on the smaller mech for a moment; his single optic looking over much of the detail on the unique frame. So _this_ was Soundwave...Megatron's personal and _most trusted_ Chief of Communications. A legend in his own, a 'Con with a serious reputation. And he was here...with _Beacon_. A shanty scientist that could barely hold her own as his assistant. _Barely_.

He spent no more time concerning himself over such pointless and illogical matters, the room again shaking as he made a slow exit to the fifth branch of the labs. The thinner mech watched him leave, this awkward yet dangerous aura surrounding him as the scientist departed as if unconcerned. Well, of course he was unconcerned. There were larger matters to be dealt with.

It was a few more kliks before Soundwave spoke.

"~Beacon,~" The recording rang in her ear finial, audio receptors listening clearly as her own name surprised the femme; she turned with an oversized grin.

"I-...almost forgot to tell you." She held back a laugh, forgetting her concerns with a tone that'd obviously wanted to escalate in volume due to her excitement. For a moment she sounded like a child, blissfully ignorant in the most irreproachable of ways. "During a planned movement a group of seekers was shot down before they could fly over Tarn. They were supposed to be the signals that allowed the rest of the fleet to infiltrate the city. I was located on the East side, their takeoff point, and flew in their place. I sent out a laser beacon to ensure that Shockwave had seen me and would lead his ranks forward. As you can see, Tarn fell under Decepticon control." She seemed giddy, and although he was quite pleased with her efforts and success...the thought of such a small femme taking the place of several troops made him uneasy. She was a scientist, not an infiltrator...not even a scout. Combat was not her strong suit; too many exposed wires and thin extremities proved that the battlefield was not her territory.

He stayed silent, watching her grow uneasy with his obvious lack of acclamation.

"I-…I _finally_ earned a name...and it's better than _Prisma_."

"Beacon?" He asked as if to confirm, helm tilting to the side as they began walking towards the door. He was now unsure of what to call her, what to say to her and who to assume she would be. A title changed bots…it made them who they were, it perfected them and it defined them...or rather, they _allowed_ it to define them.

"Actually...that's shortened." She shrugged, and now he seemed eager to know, too eager. She acted as if it were a secret, as if he would judge her. He wouldn't, as long as she was pleased with the outcome. And even then his disapproval wouldn't be capable of verbal expression.

"..." His silence was filled with curiosity, fingers nimble as they entered the correct code into the keypad. His visor never left her direction, and for a moment she wondered how he knew the entree code into the main lab facility. Purple optics glanced up, metal brows furrowed and servos set firmly at her sides as more inquiries and concerns rolled through her CPU. How did he know that? What exactly DID he know? The silly and absurd and irrelevant inquiries would have to be left for later...she had an explanation to give; her name. Her finally, well-earned, title that came with great reason and decent sound. For some reason she wasn't as keen on telling him as she had been the klik before.

"It started as Laserbeacon, but-"

"Physical checkup next cycle, _Laserbeac_." The medic passed by, datapad in hand, his smile exorbitant in its own expression as he gave her an almost taunting wave. "_Commander Soundwave_~." A nod, fluid with excessive mirth that seemed almost too casual to call it pretentiously inordinate.

Knockout continued down the hall, and she gave a sheepishly unappeased smirk at the mech's flaunted departure.

"Anyway…now it's Laserbeac."

_**~End Chapter Seven**_

* * *

_*Deca-Cycle - Cybertronain unit of time equal to three Earth weeks._

_*Pit - Cybertronain equivalent for 'Hell'._

* * *

**So yes...her name is now Laserbeac. And I know Laserbeak is originally spelt with an ending 'k', but not as the separate Laserbeac, due to it being a shortened nickname for 'Laserbeacon'; having to do with the laser beacon she put out during the invasion of Tarn. **_(We all know where this is going by now...)**  
**_

**And yes, Tarn was invaded by Shockwave and was actually ruled by the scientist until its destruction towards the destruction of Cybertron. That is indeed Canon.  
**

**Why do I have a feeling that I'm going to get a ton of shit for this? Lol.**

* * *

**_Reviews, please! _**

**_I would like to know how many of you are still following the story!~  
_**


	8. Eager Apology

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - You can now see Prisma on my DeviantART account displayed on my FF profile page. c:_****_  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 8 'Eager Apology'**

* * *

**_Stanix Region_**

* * *

He listened as her stabilizing servos caused little echoes of clutter and shuffling, the remaining pieces of the deceased being crushed beneath their weight as they traveled in search of spare parts. A meager engineer's job that she'd pleaded the older to attend during his free time. Of course he complied without hesitation, that simplistic adoration _ruining_ his intellectual train of thought. Free time could be used for refueling, recharging, information gathering or the pure and rather appealing thought of silence. But _no_. So, unlike the genius he is, he agreed to a stale and, on his end, pointless search for specific processor components. Some of which he was unfamiliar of without research.

"Oh look!" She bounced up beside him, some organ cradled in her servo as she smiled and presented it further as if a toy. Spoiled energon leaked from the loose welds, the circuits sparking from the lack of power source as faint pulses of energy coursed through the severed wires. And all she did was smile in appreciation of the part as if it weren't a gory mess of leftovers, her clawed finger components tracing each inner unit. "Whoever this was, they had three integrated circuits...as well as a malfunctioned buffer registry. Interesting."

Amnesia, he quickly noted. Her slim index pointed out the inflamed circuits with hastily following optics, the orbs flicking from left to right at an unnatural speed followed by a faint laugh in her vocals as she inspected the bleeding CPU further. Sometimes Prisma seemed too interested in worn down remains, but her eagerness beckoned nothing but wary concern. Nothing too intense as if she were insane; Megatron had enough lunatics on his side...he didn't require _another_ ruthless hinderance. Luckily, she was simply excited over her find, the out of date CPU providing joors of entertainment yet to come.

"They even had a 4-bit calculation device!"

Yes...she was simply eager. Eager in finding the part, and especially eager to be spending the cycle with him.

"Not our objective." He stated, and although fairly discreet, he hadn't allowed her simple roll of the optics go unnoticed. "That response was unnecessary."

His visit would have been perfect had he not been a killjoy about almost everything.

"Lately nothing seems to be." She mumbled and he turned, stance unbalanced as one stabilizing servo rested on the busted limb of a decrepit chassis. His visor reflected the thin glow of faded energon, the substance seemingly abundant through the city of Yuss as it endlessly seeped from the dim remains. What had once been the remainder of the Stanix region was left beneath them...scrap and rusted pieces of junk metal barely recognizable to the optic. The dead.

"...Let's just find any intact processors and leave. This place makes me anxious." Only until she noticed all the dead bodies, that is. The jet walked passed him, his gaze following behind her as _'Beacon' _continued searching. She'd recently changed, her outlook odd and seemingly disinterested in the war altogether; just science and impression. Similar to that of her _current_ commander.

"..."

"And you've recently been preoccupied with your own concerns, _Soundwave_." She'd intercepted his processor waves...how annoying. And they all distinguish _him_ as a scrutinizing eavesdropper? While the little spy of a physiologist stands by and reads their every thought? Bitterly humorous.

"...Again _unnecessary_."

"_My apologies_."

Her comment stung a bit, and he simply stayed quiet. A wise choice, considering her random outburst of a foul mood. He watched her with an unspoken disapproval, finding that her aspirations, something else proven similar to those of Shockwave, were less than respectable. Even if they were...he wouldn't allow her to ruin her own programming. She was too important, too useful and much too valuable as a cultured and sane scientist that were becoming so very rare.

And...more importantly...it was _Prisma_. Not Laserbeacon nor 'Beac'...just _Prisma_.

_His_ Prisma.

* * *

"You're leaving?" She questioned as he began walking out the door, seeking out the nearest ground bridge in silence. Purple optics never once looked up from her tinkering, several circuitry units and fluid vials preoccupying the femme's full focus.

"..." He nodded, watching as she set her project aside and began to study him.

"The right thing to do I guess...Megatron does require your assistance." She smiled a bit, feeling vaguely guilty for the earlier events. If he needed to leave, then he should, there was no absolute question in that. He was far more necessary than she was...and yet he maintained a vastly differed conclusion to her own. He would jump a bomb for her and she still had yet to realize it.

"Soundwave...I'm sorry." She blinked before huffing a breath. Apologizing was not her strong suit, and it felt awkward on her glossa. When Shockwave accused her of failure or idiocy she did not apologize. She fixed her dilemma and proved his harsh accusations wrong. The mech had never been fond of apologizes, and Prisma had discovered it even before given the name of Laserbeacon. Possibly the first day she'd stepped foot on their base.

"..." He nodded, the irritated shuffling of her creation vibrating against his chestplates in spite of his lack of socialization. It wanted to see her, and even as he attempted to silence the damn mini-con it managed to unhitching itself and transform to reach her.

It was painfully ironic, seeing that this four-vorn old bird was more advanced than he was as far as social interaction.

A thin sputter of electronic noises made Beacon grin, and her arm extended as her creation balanced its lower panels to rest on her servo. It shifted, sending out a signal he could not intercept and, seeing as he was about to depart, wouldn't in caution of the many her negative responses she could expel.

"I missed you too." And silence. A thick one even as his personal defense weapon shuffled across the two slim bars of metal that made her lower arm.

"Of course." A brief quirk of her lip components. "Take care of him."

He was unsure as far as a response. Should he be insulted? No...

"I know...you'll get used to it." She whispered it, just barely loud enough for his audials to understand.

For an odd reason he still had yet to feel insulted.

_**~End Chapter Eight**_

* * *

_*Stanix - The first regions of Cybertron to fall to the war._

_*Yuss - A Cybertronian city located within the Stanix region, also the first city to be destroyed at the agenda of the Decepticons. _

* * *

**Yay the infamous couple's argument everyone supposedly goes through. Hehe. Short chapter, sorry! You guys can see Prisma on my DeviantART account; Evangeline73 . Deviantart . com**

* * *

**_At this point I'd even appreciate the word 'okay' as a review, haha. ^^_**


	9. Decisions

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

**_A/N - You can now see Prisma on my DeviantART account displayed on my FF profile page. c:_****_  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 9 'Decisions'**

* * *

**_Kaon Medical Bay_**

* * *

He needed to make a decision. A simple task that earlier in the vorn had applied this option with each reprimanding word Megatron had beaten him with.

He had overlooked his objective, only for a moment, to ensure that Tarn's coordinates were wiped from the Autobot's list of Decepticon-controlled city-states that were to be bombed out of existence...just in case he were unsuccessful in deactivating the mechanism in time. Thus causing the first nuke to incinerate their base on the outskirts of Iacon. Megatron was not pleased...and he knew precisely why Tarn was the first to be coddled and spared. Soundwave did not deny his favoritism and defense for that scientist when interrogated on the matter. There would be no point in doing so.

But according to word he cared too much, and in this war the hurt and pain in the feeling of loss was something a 'Con of his importance couldn't afford to suffer through. It was a distraction, it was a suffering he was incapable of avoiding without preventative actions as well as the assumption that the physiologist would one day be offlined.

Countless sparks would be thrown away into the wreckage of the dead...and his work, along with survival, were supposed to be his only priorities. So Prisma? His affections must either be diluted or removed altogether. Within the rugged pits of Kaon there was no room for adoration. And certainly not emotion. Megatron was not wrong...not in the least, but he concluded that his Leader's bitterness was due to his own bondmate's choice to join the opposing faction.

It didn't matter.

Although...the repercussions were clearly and completely uncertain. The reaction of Pris-..._Laserbeac_ was obviously foreboded in the topic alone. She would be unnecessarily upset, perhaps angry. The outcome, although expected, was indefinitely vague. Prisma had never been one to be..._discernible_ or..._conspicuous_. But he wasn't sure about 'Laserbeac'...despite the two personas being of one spark. A personal joke he'd made out of spite of her newfound title. Prisma was more than acceptable. She had no reason to change or allow her name to be changed. That and he'd grown oddly fond of the sarcastic phrase '_his_ Prisma' that'd been thrown around by Megatron once or twice vorns ago. The decision had long been made that he would still call her Prisma, although Laserbeacon was admittedly witty.

...He suddenly lost his train of though...

Ah, yes...his original decision.

He glanced down to the medic, visor reflecting the doctor's sleek faceplate of patience as he folded his formally designed door panels. Thin red optics looked up at the blank slate of glass, orbs searching briefly for some kind of visualized argument going on in the Intelligence Officer's CPU. Soundwave seemed too calm about this...almost awkward as he stood unmoving. Most patients were frantic in such a decision...antsy and obviously uncertain. This was more than just removing a fried circuit, after all. This was the altering of an entire personality unit, almost the equivalent of the complete removal of one's personality unit. The fact that he'd asked for this procedure within the same cycle as the original suggestion was odd enough.

After a few more moments the seeker came to several conclusions; Megatron would be pleased. Larger capacity within the processor for information was never a _bad_ thing. In fact it would assist more than hinder. Opinions were often looked down upon as of late. Especially since the fall of Kalis.

Was there anyone other than Prisma and Megatron that he'd cared for? No, not particularly. And only one would be in favor of such a drastic change; this being the ultimate reason why he hadn't asked said femme to do the procedure despite her success and talent in physiology. Or...would Prisma's loyalty beckon her to accept this? Yes; perhaps it would. He had faith that she would look at his situation with the usual smile and reassure him that it was the correct choice of reason. And, in the less aware circuits of his CPU, he realized that Prisma would never return his endless sentiments, and it was partially his fault in hoping that she would. Because it wouldn't happen. She was just too...far. Far in distance, in mind and in caring for anything beyond her own work.

They would never be more than what they had, would they? What the frag did they have? He had observed her since adolescence and she had maintained their friendship since; keeping it just that. No matter how often he embraced her or the level of endearment he progressed to she would never be capable of falling in love with him. A harsh reality, but that selfish nature hammered into her CPU through being a Towers femme prevented Prisma from seeing something beyond scientific achievement. And this was war, and he preferred to think that battles and loss was what distanced them, not the self-concern that made her social observations nonexistent.

He often wondered if she knew he adored her, too much, or if she was ignorant of his emotional conflict entirely. The mech's endless comfort and his constant check-ups, his never ending approval even when she'd been involved with another mech for a seemingly long period of time. What more was there to do? Nothing...she did not love him...and he couldn't accept that.

It all ached, even as he looked back to the surgeon and nodded in sharp approval.

"You sure?" It was hesitant, a slyness to the inquiry as the Medic glanced up and down the mech's frame. Yet his own reply was quick, he'd thought enough on such a disaster of a relationship.

"Affirmative."

* * *

It was merely a solar cycle before he had stated the news bluntly. As expected, Megatron approved and had even congratulated him with that appealing expression of pride. Prisma...was not as reluctant in accepting the complete removal of any emotional functions. In fact...she'd hated him for it. Hated him enough to groundbridge to Kaon from Tarn and confront him vigorously. She had pulled him aside, into his personal wreck of a lab and interrogated without much sympathy.

"Why-...why would you do that?" Her optics shuttered swiftly, her distance caused by this pathetic sense of disbelief that prevented her from thinking logically. Her tone was thin, optics narrowed and lip components pursed with this sneer he'd never seen. Who knew she'd maintained such a disgusted countenance after all these vorns?

"Purpose: information storage."

"You deleted your emotions...for information?" She gaped a bit, still unsure and still baffled beyond any sense of recognition or belief. Her servos fisted, and one set itself against the closest wall as she lost her balance to incredulity. She felt overwhelmed. Sick to her digestive tanks due to his carelessness. "How-...I-I don't understand."

"Process: elementary."

"I _know_ what the process is! I do it consistently!" She yelled, tone escalating in this foreign rage that he hadn't at all expected. Yet...he felt nothing. No guilt, no opposition, nor any form of strict retaliation. It was odd...it was almost uncomfortable to feel...just nothing. Just awareness, just observation, just logic.

"..." She breathed heavily at his silence, as if attempting to calm herself into some bitter form of acceptance. Spite, almost.

"Well?" She questioned crassly, and his helm tilted at her lack of clarification. "How does it feel?"

"Status: unsubstantial."

"What'd you expect?" A hint of pungency in her vocals. She'd done this operation before...she was familiar with the effects. Even the way he spoke was altered. In all truth, emotional function in the processor did take up an astonishing amount of space, but Soundwave had already been designed with more informational storage than most. He had no excuse, he had no reason and because of that the situation infuriated her beyond remark.

"Prisma: apprehensive." He'd called her Prisma...in fact, he was the only one who still called her Prisma. With anyone else it was either Beacon, or Laserbeac. On rare occasions Laserbeacon as it'd originally been given. Yet...that hadn't changed. His wing panel extended as he rested an affable servo on the side of her helm, his pollex digit tracing the line beneath her optic as he used to. An action that'd become automatic with previous consistency, she quickly assumed. That made the comfort a little less enjoyable; not as adoring nor as real. She suddenly felt like crumpling into the most insignificant ball possible, the coolant behind her optics threateningly thin as each node of affliction and calamity beckoned tears further. She wouldn't cry though; as sensitive as she was, and as sensitive as everyone knew she was, she never sobbed or sniveled in self-pity. It was unattractive; inappropriate.

Soundwave jerked her forward, pulling her against him and enveloping the smaller within his wing panels at an attempt to calm her down. As he'd done before. But this time...it felt empty. This embrace felt vacant and hollow and stiff even as she loosely rested into the contact in hopes of emotionally obtaining anything she usually did. There was no expression in his movements that'd made up for his lack of facial visage, and even as he set a spindly servo on her helm in consolation...all she felt was a meaningless touch. He said he'd felt nothing? Well now neither did she.

And the feeling of nothing was void of _everything_ and cold as she leaned further into him only to realize that her minibot was no longer present on his chest plates. Memories kept automatically pushing themselves forward into the frontal lobe of her processor's cortex, the coolant inching further and further to the liquid ducts at the edges of her optics. Her throat panels stung as she attempted to speak, the creaking of her vocalizer painful to the audio receptors.

"I-...think I loved you." Words. It occurred to her that these were just words that were obviously late and now less than concerning. Possibly a phrase that'd at one point been capable of altering nearly everything due to the solemn and truthful fact that those particular 'feelings' would have at an earlier point been eagerly returned. Hesitation was the enemy, an obvious one that now mocked her shaken form as he still held their impractical embrace.

Soundwave gave no reaction...he simply stored the information for any possible future reference and released the femme gracelessly. Purple optics shot back and forth across his chassis, a broken look of panic and pained regret forming on her faceplates as he turned and departed from the communications lab. Prisma felt sick, her digestive tanks churning the earlier consumed energon sluggishly and clenching as a response to her abrupt and emotional setback; the sudden need to purge was imminent.

_**~End Chapter Nine**_

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**_Please review if you love Ratchet. Because I sure as hell do. c: _**


	10. Nuke

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

_**A/N - **You can now see Prisma on my DeviantART account displayed on my FF profile page. c:_**_  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 10 'Nuke'**

* * *

**_Tarn - Decepticon Base _**

* * *

Even as she boarded the drop ship the sky was this distant and a murky shade of gray, the sounds of panic wailed into the air and pillars of blackened smoke were nothing but the signs of catastrophe as fire melted everything that'd earlier collapsed. Shockwave had departed from Tarn after the fourth bomb, also the instant any of his personal and important research had been transported out of the city as well. Yet she was told to remain in her position, _ordered_, actually. To wipe the mainframe, clear every console and throw anything worth it into the surrounding conflagration.

Done. Finished without a molecule of evidence left in her wake. She made sure of it. But as consequence, and Shockwave had known this, she and her team were the last to leave. Left with a meager drop ship, _barely_ capable of speed.

The hatch closed behind the jet and her belongings, a small window providing enough of a visual feed. Her wings set themselves flat against her back, the purple lines of light that adorned her body dimming with pretense.

The ground ruptured as their base, seeming a million miles below the actual surface of Tarn, began to fall into itself by the walls. The balconies, that'd reminded her so much of the ones she'd spent her days learning on with Soundwave, crumbled and cascaded further to the final floors of Cybertron. Beacon watched the larger pieces catch into the loose wires, that the lower regions left unmaintained, and several smashed into the endless herd of civilians below. Their factions were unknown, but at this point she assumed that they shared her symbol of deception.

Bodies fell from higher levels of ground, some having been shoved, many stumbling due to the quakes of rocking planet, others attempting to flee by transforming and flying out of the lower levels; the pressure of going so fast and so high crushing their frames entirely.

Beacon sobbed out of her vocals, digits curling around the few possessions she could find and optics flickering in abhorrence. The jet stumbled as another missile set itself to the East, the wave of its collision into Tarn nearly snapping their struggling drop ship in half. She thanked Primus it hadn't, her intake manifolds tightening with the anxious pains of fear.

She rushed to the ship's communicator, nodding to Sailrip as he continued pulling the damn thing upward.

She stumbled with the communication board, keypad barely able to read the press of her finger components. Sailrip turned, glancing at his two other passengers before slamming a fisted servo into the wall out of pent-up rage and the realization that they were done for.

"Laserbeac, Haul, brace yourselves...we've got a wide-range phroton missile on the radar. Stasis beam cleared out any Decepticon defense and its headed towards _this_ quadrant." The coarse bite of his vocals was not a comforting tone, not in the least. Certainly not a voice she'd wanted to explain her demise. He rubbed the tan of his paint off a bit; the old color was dulling and chipping, mostly due to the heat that'd burned its edges black.

"So this is it?" She muttered, glancing upwards out the window. Even if they _had_ a chance to make it to the surface level, there'd be no way to make it out of Tarn in time. Passed its walls...out of range.

"We can call for a space bridge?" Haul set himself on the floor, one arm ripped from his chassis and set idle in his lap.

"No, we're nowhere near the required elevation. The vortex would snap immediately due to low altitude." Beacon brittled it out, understandably distraught.

"Need to make a call?" Sail tapped the comm, screen prehistoric as it fuzzed with a signal.

"Do you?" She frowned.

"Pilot offlined inside...No one else I'd call." Her frown deepened. An explanation as to why his entire chassis was covered in energon.

"Sorry..." A dense air of quite, the only sound being the bellowing thrusters of their little drop ship and the panicked wails of the dying. She hadn't known the two were bonded, though it did explain their relationship. "...for your loss, I mean."

Still terrible with apologies. But Pilot had been her companion as well.

"Haul?" He chuckled, waving his dismantled arm out with his good one as if to dismiss the comment.

"Offlined at the start of this fragging mess." The war, he meant. She recalled his tragic story. Everbot had one.

"S-...sorry." She mumbled, and tapped at the metal bars of her forearms. "We're missing Frisk, Suntracer and Classic."

She continued to mumble.

"Would it fragging matter?" Haul tossed his arm to the side, leaning back and watching the endless shadows pass row by row as they ascended further out of the ground. A metallic chuckle left his vocals, and he seemed to daze off.

"Don't you have a call to make, Beac?" Sailrip punched another wall, processor aching with regret. Pilot didn't deserve that. None of them did.

* * *

It was all usual, all familiar as spindly digits hit every key with precision, the monitor expelling a faded purple of light. But he was not content, nor curious, nor annoyed. Even as an emergency transmission reached his personal systems he did not panic, instead answered it and watched the visual feed as she came into view.

Two vorns. Two vorns without communication and somehow it made coping to his current lifestyle so much harder. She hadn't changed, not physically, appearing as though they'd just spoken yesterday.

-Soundwave...- He noticed the multiple lacerations and scorch marks from blasters crawling up her arm panels and adorning her downturned wings. Some of her was charred, the glow of her lights prominent in the dim and continuously moving lighting. A bit of dried energon caked itself over her plates, and he could see another wounded mech sitting in the back, glancing hesitantly at the comm.

"I've missed you." A warm expression on her faceplate, leaving him without any significant response. His visor reflected the light of the screen, a glow of that consistent intimidation she'd always been fond of reminding her of their time during the newly titled 'golden age'. The jet had lost her wits for a moment, sharpened finger components curling into the broken remains of a keypad as the loud vibrations of something detrimental echoed.

"Incoming!" A voice from behind her, cracking as a wave of pressure knocked them back and forth in their small shuttle. Prisma stumbled a bit, taking hold on the control panel before tensing against the aftershock of a previously landed bomb. The nuke was minutes away.

"I've already sent you the prints and structural information for everything. Including the Vehicons both flyers and grounders." She smiled, an action he'd never taken advantage of even when he was physically capable. She was speaking quick nonsense, a simple space bridge could see her dilemma. "Shockwave has them memorized, but I still want them provided to another engineer in case of-"

"-Space bridge: Optional. Request: Unnecessary. " He turned to leave, his intentions oddly set on sending a bridge and meeting her halfway.

"No, very necessary. We're nowhere near the surface. The lack of altitude will cause the vortex to snap. So...stay here..." She managed an ironic chuckle. Her servo touched the screen, a seemingly meaningless action until he slowly raised his own to mimic the gesture. Out of sympathy, perhaps. He did not care for her anymore, she recalled. He did not feel. He was no longer a he...he was an it. And that stung her delight in seeing him, because for so long he had been her only worthwhile companion and since she'd begun to learn he'd been beside her assisting. Since her creators had hired him to come to the Towers and since she'd met him in the Iacon hall...all of these memories stung...a chaste and faulty feel of coarse wires pulling at her spark.

He had been there when the towers in Iacon fell and he'd been there when all of her siblings were reported offlined due to raids. He'd been there for every promotion, every achievement and yet, now, none of that meant a damn thing.

She vented, digits curling into the metal of her palms. A regretful form of anxiety she supposed.

"Do you remember when we met? I would always read out loud in the record hall?" He nodded, watching as her grin widened at the memory and her bleary optics narrowed at the crushed keypad of her monitor as she spoke.

"I always read aloud because...I thought you couldn't read at all." A faint chucked slowly turned into a full laugh. The fact that she used her servo to cover it caused a mild tweak of abnormal annoyance. She looked afraid; terrified in such a cornered situation even with the company behind her. The mech behind passed out, offlining momentarily from the significant loss of energon. Small cracks began spreading through the windows behind her, the bolts shaking in the walls as the pressure grew tight and heavy around them. Their elevation was increasing, they were nearly to the surface.

He ignored her environment and nodded a second time, setting his servo against the glass of the monitor again, firm. She did the same, their connections illogical and far yet still in tact. He wouldn't allow her to risk dying alone, because in all reality, despite having his emotional circuits removed, what was left of him, anything normal, would perish with her. He watched pensively as a larger crack snapped across the glass almost violently, the small a high-pitched whistle of air it created making the femme wince. A small and continuous beep barely seemed audible passed the screech of wind through the crack, but she appeared to panic at that more than the failing ship.

"Shockwave offlined everyone in the lab to ensure nothing would be exposed. He left me to double check all system reboots and clear all the monitors. Inform Megatron that there's nothing here that the Autobots could use."

"..."

"Beacon, we've got less than a breem*..." Sail came up beside her, glancing at the fuzzy monitor before looking back at his last conscious companion.

"Soundwave, I-..." She paused. Such a confession of her personal emotions would be worthless, especially as repetitive as it would sound. She'd told him once...he had no verbal reply nor visual response. She had to find something else to say...but it was hard. "...I hope my efforts make a difference."

And she crumpled their connection with the simple crush of a button.

He hadn't even had the chance...there was no opportunity for a rescue. All was done accordingly and Tarn was falling to a city led by Neutrals. What was he to feel? Knowing that she was undoubtedly offlined or, in higher hopes, fatally wounded? That his only legitimate companion of countless vorns was being eradicated from the face of Cybertron?

Nothing. Soundwave simply found it ironic that she was going to be killed with the weapons she'd once helped developed.

* * *

**_Kaon - Five Solar Cycles_**

* * *

Providing a sparkling with a name was difficult, he found. A gifted creation even more so. 'Prisma' would have been perfect had this fluttering information seeker been of feminine structure, and had Soundwave been religious enough to name him such. Unfortunately it did not fit...it didn't make sense.

This is where he recognized how much logic had altered his own personality...where despite how important something had once seemed, his CPU wouldn't allow it. All because...it didn't make sense?

He watched him glide a bit around his personal quarters, the teetering of the ship for once stable enough to allow constant movement without the fear of injury. This creation...it made his spark ache. Not as it had in previous time...no, with the lack of emotion it was just a pure, painful, throbbing ache. A burn...an injury.

He questioned himself on his previous decision cycle to cycle. With Prisma offlined he found it harder to cope without emotional function than it would have been with it. How ironic. The main reason it was removed throbbed and haunted him, and became a physical pain against his chassis rather than a pain capable of healing over.

She had been so young. He always found himself forgetful on how much of an age difference there'd truly been.

"...Previous analogies: unimportant." He spoke, and the smaller extremity perked at the noise as he landed atop the higher edge of the berth; lower panels spreading flat to balance on the slanted surface.

What would he name it...what could he possible title such a creature? Something legitimate, with or without meaning it mattered not. It fidgeted...it's beak-like point tapping at the surface of the wall in curiosity.

Ah, a hint within his observations. He would call him Laserbeak.

_**~End Chapter Ten**_

* * *

_*****__Breem - a Cybertronian minute (5.2 Earth minutes)_

* * *

_**You guys, **THERE'S ONE MORE CHAPTER.** Swear on it. Have it written out and everything. So, Happy Easter and April Fools Day; good luck you gullible bastards. c;**_

**_Also, Tarn was destroyed during a serious bombing held between themselves and Vos. They pretty much blasted each other into oblivion. Survivors were recruited into the Decepticon ranks due to Megatron putting the blame on Iacon, an Autobot ruled city._**

_Shoutout to Stolen-Wings and MidnasEspeon~ _

**_Please Review! _**


	11. Adoration

**_Oc x Soundwave (Pre-war)_**

_**A/N - **You can now see Prisma on my DeviantART account displayed on my FF profile page. c:_**_  
_**

**~Enjoy**

**Ch. 11 'Adoration'**

* * *

**_Kaon - Decepticon base  
_**

* * *

The cycle that he'd caught but a mere glimpse of her, his intake manifolds tightened and she seemed unaware of him entirely. She was offline...he'd been sure of it...yet there she was. Kneeling before Megatron on a single knee, taking visible gratitude in his vague words of praise. There was still no emotion...there was still this uncomfortable lack of response. Illogical; a response was illogical. Yet...no response was also illogical. Such a conflict. Vorns of this, of a horrid indecisive lifestyle he mentally warred with from cycle to cycle.

He stiffened, she'd caught his gaze. He sensed trepidation, a glance that bore into his spark from afar by accidentally looking in that general direction. But it held no familiarity, no rational or expected emotion. She gave the response any stranger would.

Her walk was careful, as if her pedes were avoiding excessive movements. Her wing panels shifted as normal, and he found himself...not missing...but recalling how fond he'd been of such a subtle and expressive motion. No...he hardly missed anything. His planet? Perhaps, but the destruction of a planet was never something to be overlooked, even without emotional stigmas. She, however, could easily be forgotten...and until now he nearly had. Nearly. There were still the memories he refused to delete...that alone was inexplainable to his own CPU. His excuse was the information she'd shared. It could one day prove important...unlikely but still entirely possible. There was also her verbalized blueprints on the structure of a false-spark, that video she'd sent him. The day she'd died. He refused to delete that as well. And of course those who knew questioned it, wether it were to taunt him or beckon some sort of rage that would prove he still maintained a conscious.

"I heard she and our CO had a past..." A Vehicon mumbled on the other end of the hall, completely oblivious to his enhanced audio receptors. Her own creations, though unaware of their structural origin, were ironically speaking uncertainties about her. Gossip. A popular pastime around base. It was likely to increase if the plan to leave Cybertron on a singular ship was to be executed. Trapped with a bunch of simpleminded drones that had the marksmanship of a rusted bolt. Even worse: trapped on a ship with Starscream.

"No way that's possible. Mech's got no emotions, remember?" He approached and passed them, noting their immediate silence.

Soundwave realized that confronting her was now a requirement, he could not allow such an odd and thought beckoning inquery go unanswered. How had she survived? That was the only question he had. That was the only question he needed. The simple fact that the missiles had landed only seconds before she'd cut their communications was proof enough. And if she'd survived...where ha she gone? Who had she stayed with and for how long? When, where and even more important was the stand alone question of...why?

He found her, simply wandering perhaps to familiarize herself with the seemingly endless halls. Attempting to turn the farther a corner she was caught by another jet's glare, and Soundwave simply watched her shift from one pede to the other as the attention of Megatron's FIC drowned the femme in sudden discomfort.

"Ah, Prisma..." A look of confusion on her faceplate, then surprise. Starscream had never learned her upgraded name. "...I'd been under the impression that you were _offlined_ during the destruction of Tarn..."

The second in command extended a servo, finger components curling with his suggestive curiosity. Always so snide. But she only displayed more confusion before answering with a countenance of caution.

"Survival had been...difficult. But I managed." That vocalizer...her voice had changed ever so slightly. Everything had seemed to change. Soundwave stiffened, wires strung tightly and nimble digits coiled into narrow fists.

"I had hoped nothing _too_ gruesome had been wrought of you." He laughed that slick chuckle, optics narrowing in the process as a smirk pulled at the edges of his lip components. Laserbeacon shifted, an odd sensation of trepidation and disgust overwhelming her sensors.

"Either way..." His heels clicked as he began striding away, servo at the curved arch of his backplates as the other waved over his retreating shoulder. "..._welcome aboard_."

She watched him leave, and Soundwave turned and departed. Laserbeak fidgeted against his front, anxiousness, curiosity, hope and concern all filtering into his CPU as the bird gained a visual of his creator. He would leave Laserbeak in his berth...and then continue as planned.

* * *

The confrontation was tense, his own frame stiffened with the sheer feeling of uncertainty. Yes, _pure_ uncertainty. The uncertainty of how completely illogical this entire ordeal was. She was _dead_...there was no question within his CPU that could even remotely or possibly suggest her survival during the final hours of Tarn. The city fell beneath a nuclear attack of both Vos and Autobot wreckage, then was scouted by both factions.

She turned to greet him, too properly and all too unfamiliarly for his liking. There was this shallow under layer to her tone, this falsified persona that he couldn't quite place.

"Commander Soundwave...what can I do for you?" So informal, yet...formal. It made no sense. He struggled to comprehend such observations, such _luck_ to find her walking through the Nemesis as if _nothing_ had happened. As if...they'd never had such close relations. Although if this were out of bitter response, he couldn't blame her. Childish yes, but understanding. Upon finding his own emotions distracting, he removed them. He destroyed her. He had ended Prisma, and it only now occurred to him.

Memory loss. Her processor could have been fried, discs wiped, trauma...rows of possibilities he hadn't considered. She was never physically gone but her processor lacked anything concerning their once substantial and, although fruitless, appreciated relationship. Those emotions were poison, distractions...and even now they proved themselves trouble enough to blunt his actions. He stood immobile as a pain beneath his chestplates emanated from his spark, seeping into every wire with a paralyzingly despair he'd never felt. To know she was _alive_...but to figure him as a _stranger_. To no longer embrace him and provide those familiar gestures of comfort he had admittedly reached for when thinking of her. A rare occurrence, yes, but still present in his CPU. His emotions were still there and this instant begged to prove it, the lack of the component that caused feelings simply inflicting a physical pain as it always did. The overwhelming pain that he refused to respond to became a throbbing ache throughout his chassis, a cold chill opposing the warm flustered flow of energon this femme used to cause him.

Prisma slowly stepped back, paranoia an obviously new attribute.

"Sir?" He snapped back, visor reflecting her wide gaze as the pain subsided; he was returned to the present. Her helm tilted, wings strut down, and purple optics swiveled to the left. They narrowed out of their shock to express concern, the faintest tinge of a blue undertone reflecting off the edges of her faceplate. Blue...undertone. _Blue_. They stared at him, delicate, shapely, familiar and brightly lit as he recalled. But as purple as they were they had never once held the slightest hint of blue, and she'd been too proud to ever alter them for fashions sake.

This was not Prisma. Not even Laserbeacon.

_Fraud._

The spindly digits of his servo worked fast to clutch her vocalizer, holding the femme further into the air, catching her entirely off guard.

"C-Commander! What-" He listened to the thin crack of her pipes; the denting metal of her intake manifolds faintly screeching in a more than abnormal manner. A harsh wheezing escaped the femme's throat, her vocals suffering the most. How dare she. How dare this piece of scrap take on **_her_ **appearance, try and deceive Megatron...and...break his spark for the _second_ time. He could feel it cracking...the edges like splinters against every wire in his system as another pain nearly beckoned his servo loose from her neck. He cringed, keeping his hold and maintaining his composure. He would not show weakness. His emotions were gone.

But why did he feel rage?

"Identity: Falsified."

It made no sense.

"Explanation: Required."

Though...nothing really did anymore.

"I-I-..."

"Falsified identity: Laserbeacon."

"I-"

"Explanation: Demanded." A tighter hold made her gag out the information.

"L-Laserbeacon is the only known Decepticon scientist who's death was recorded, as well as historically assisted Megatron and gained an upper hand within the inner system." She stuttered before transforming; panels shifted beneath his grasp to reveal her legitimate form. Just as tall, optics narrow, plating black and paint job butchered by some unknown occurrence. "Since she was offlined in the bombing of Crystal City we-."

"Incorrect: Destruction of Tarn." So she'd been lying...using Prisma's death as some meager excuse to pass by and through the Nemesis, not even equipped with the correct information. Pathetic. He was truly surprised at how far she'd gotten.

"N-No...records say Laserbeacon and her team made it to a high enough elevation where a space bridge could be connected to their location. They escaped before Tarn was destroyed. Autobot forces showed her mercy with the bridge and held her and the one other survivor for interrogation, then put both in the prisons beneath Crystal City."

She cringed, the very tips of his digits digging into the rubber casing around her throat. She didn't understand, his anger went beyond the irritation of discovering an imposter. Decepticons were killed more often than Autobots were...there should have been nothing wrong. The plan was supposed to be effortless, and this mech supposedly had all emotional circuits removed. Unless...it was personal. He carried some odd form of affection towards the deceased...the unlikely slip they'd never considered.

She panicked.

"W-when Crystal city denied Decepticon affiliations it was bombed and everyone in the city was offlined. We looked everywhere, there were barely any survivors and the lower levels were completely obliterated!"

In turn he paused...servo loosening, shoulder plates vaguely slumping in something the femme would only assume was acceptance. Hopefully realization.

"We didn't kill her, her own cause did..." A terrible choice of words, but she only bit her glossa after.

"Designation: Demanded." So blunt.

"Mimic." She changed back, plates shifting, the pointed optics matching such a familiar expression as Prisma stared into his visor again. "Occupation stealth and infiltration."

Afraid. It was obvious, but this was not Laserbeacon, this was not Prisma. The second she transformed back into her personal frame he dropped her, careless of damage. Stepping back he departed, and Mimic quickly attempted a mission abort.

* * *

**_Cells of Kaon_**

* * *

She screamed out of terrified frustration, slamming her servos palm-first into the neon blue wall, its transparency making no difference to the cell she stood in. Across from her was a vacant one, splatters of spoiled, dry energon crawling up every inch of it, tainting the ceilings and covering the ground. Mimic could feel herself stiffen, pedes grinding into the metal of the floor as anxiety bit into her nerves. Would she die here? Probably not, an emergency beacon had already been sent before her initial capture. The one that landed her in this pathetic cage.

Autobots. A funny term for a faction so unwilling to do anything against those who opposed them. Nothing was automatic, it hardly made sense. Her team consisted of an unstable triple-changer, a coward, a former bounty hunter and a control freak with opposition issues that teetered on an ice-thin edge. Hardly a team at all. Now that she thought about the situation and her chances of those idiots forming a decision...she found her demise within the Decepticon pits of Kaon likely. The holo screen above the cell across from her own, once blank and thought to be broken, flickered on to reveal the mighty face of the spawn of evil. And following the clearing of the mech's throat, her own throbbing due to Soundwave's inflictions, was the steady sound of footfall as someone slowly walked down the rows of empty imprisonments.

Megatron spoke.

_*My fellow Decepticons, this is the time of change you have all been anticipating...*_ Mimic tensed, finger components twitching and blue optics swiveling back and forth. Her denta seeped into the lower lip component, chest plates heaving as air left her manifolds in an attempt to calm herself. The femme was a mess, inside more than out.

_*...in this solar cycle we will eradicate all of those who oppose us, Autobot and Neutral alike...*_

But her fear increased significantly as _he _appeared, towering over her form and making the flyer jump back from her place behind the neon wall, gaze going back and forth between the mech before her and the screen above his head. Soundwave's visor tiled down, catching her expression of anxiousness and reflecting the flash of light as the transparent wall she'd just recently come to appreciate dissipated, his digit on the keypad beside her cage.

_*There will be no failure! This cycle, with our numbers, the ruins of Kaon will be faced with success as we war with their precious Prime!*_

Soundwave paid no attention to the speech, he found no reason to be present or beside his Leader during such political bile. It was all scrap, a bunch of lies the Gladiator had conjured to ensure that those who blindly followed him fought with certainty, those who opposed him cowered, and the loyalist remained loyal. Therefor his attention was not necessary. So instead he waited, staring and unmoving while Mimic panicked just as he figured she would. She transformed to face him as Prisma, eyes still wide yet purple in hopes that he wouldn't strike her as someone he'd once shared emotional ties. A rotten trick, she knew, but she wasn't ready to die at the merciless servos of a 'Con.

_*-to give your lives in the name of your cause! Earn your freedom! It is not a commodity that one is born with!*_

He stepped forward, the long panels of his wings reaching further as he grasped the rods of her lower arm, one servo resting on the side of her faceplate...a digit tracing beneath her optic as he'd always done. He tugged the femme forward and into an awkward embrace that she struggled to resist, the comfort dull but still flexible to the imagination. He needed this, a form of closure to eradicate the physical pains. A reason to delete all of the memories of Prisma taking up room in his CPU.

_*For we will destroy those who interfere, and those who sacrificed their lives will-*_

Mimic choked on a sob of coolant, a tightness welling into her digestive tanks as he leaned into her further, barely resting his weight into her own. Soundwave stifled an emotional response as her wings flattened with fear against her back. For a moment it felt like Prisma, it seemed, sounded and appeared like Prisma or Beacon or Laserbeac or whoever she'd been the day of her demise. The faint glow of purple radiating from her figure made him expel what one would consider a sigh and the warmth of a connection brought memories to the front of his cortex to subconsciously analyze. He recalled the cycle she had told him, the word '_love_' an echo of ache that nearly made him nauseous.

"Previous sentiment: Reciprocated."

Beyond her shock and trepidation she had no idea what he was talking about. She had no idea what _this_ was. But Mimic heard cheering beyond it all, looking over the officer's shoulder to the screen exposing the blazing red of Megatron's optics as he yelled his oration over the crowd. Their loyalty was definite. _Soundwave's_ loyalty was definite.

_*And in the end they will look to us with the utmost respect-*_ The cheering intensified, his vocals raising and Soundwave's hold tightened as he spoke a second time, a simple whisper of _'Prisma'_ meeting her audios through all of the chaotic chants. Pain crumpled her circuits, a fine trickle of energon slowly growing into an endless pour cascaded down the lower half of her body as the sharp pricks of his finger components ripped into the wires of her abdomen. Carefully, cautiously, and caring. He still held his adoration from the Golden Age, still expressed it with gentle curls of his digits as he severed every wire in her frame. He had to, of course...rid himself of what distracted him...eliminate what was left of the emotional conflict he faced. Even as she fell he caught her, gentle to lay her dying form on the floor before pausing to take it all in.

He was impressed, the end being a slow relief he basked in and a guiltless murder of a previously loved companion. A weight removed itself from his shoulders, the reflection of her slow end staring back at Mimic from his visor. She was not Prisma. She would never be Prisma. Despite this he turned away, appeased, servos stained with the energon of a simple fraud and spark intact; a final glance proved it as the purple of her optics shined a bright blue, plates sifting to reveal herself while she withered in pain. They gray color and blank expression they took afterwards almost graceful on the rough edges of the femme's features. Soundwave departed the lower cages of Kaon with Megatron's voice booming in the background of his thoughts...a lack of pain and inner turmoil illogically providing a single emotion of mirth.

Prisma was offline. Vorns ago it would have destroyed him, reduced him into nothing but a suicidal husk of uselessness. With such advancements he prevented catastrophe...and for now he remained physically stable. But he would always adore her, always care and consider her whether he removed those memories or not. But for now he was content, he wouldn't miss anything. Not her smile, her twitchy wings...how she used to read his mind...not even her laugh. For now this odd form of closure prevented a collapse of pain and regret, and for now he could move on.

He sauntered the halls towards his quarters, Megatron's voice still filling the halls with his live oration.

_*We will stand victorious no matter the costs, and we as Decepticons, alive and deceased, will have their everlasting adoration!*_

* * *

_**~Fin**_

* * *

**This is it. Complete. Please tell me if this was a disappointing ending or if it suited the story well considering Soundwave's current character in TF:P. **

**Thank you all for reading! c;**


End file.
